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THE 

PRISONERS OF WAR 

SI itcminijefccncc of tijc JHclidlion 


BY 


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ARCHIBALD McCOWAN 


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War is hell ” — Gen. W. T. Sherman. 

Let us have peace.” — Gen. U. S. Grant. 


THE 

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PREPACK 


This story was begun shortly after the close 
of the Civil War and while my army experi- 
ences were comparatively fresh in my memory. 
This fact will account for the frequent use of 
the word ‘‘rebel’’ or its contraction “ reb,” 
now, after the lapse of a generation, softened 
into the more euphonious appellation “ Confed- 
erate.” 

During the ten years following the surrender 
of General Lee the country was flooded with 
war stories, some of them of the most extrav- 
agant character. I saw that my modest little 
effort to narrate facts would stand small 
chance of success in competition with the 
highly-embellished imaginings of clever writers 
who had never seen a battlefield, except in 
pictureis, so I laid my manuscript aside to 
await a more convenient season. 

Most of the great leaders and some of the 
lesser have had their say; this little book pre- 
sents the closing scenes of our tremendous 
struggle for unity and freedom from the stand- 
point of a private soldier. 


A. McC. 




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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Introductory 9 

II. At THE Front 14 

III. Captured 18 

IV. Salisbury 26 

V. The Escape 38 

VL Recaptured 54 

VII. In the Mountains 65 

VIII. The Cave 74 

IX. An Old Acquaintance 81 

X. Free at Last 89 

XL Home Again 97 

XII. The Last Battle 102 

XIII. A Visit TO THE South no 

XIV. The Lawyer’s Story 116 

XV. The Cipher 124 

XVI. An Old Friend 128 

XVII. The Pines ^ 134 

XVIII. A Discovery and what it Cost 141 

XIX. Ellen 145 

XX. The Examination 152 

XXL The Treasure 157 

XXII. A Narrow Escape 173 

XXIII. A Mystery Cleared UP 176 

XXIV. Conclusion 180 


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THE PRISONERS OF WAR. 


CHAPTER I. 

INTRODUCTORY. 

Nearly twelve years have elapsed since the 
occurrence of the events here narrated, but 
they are as fresh in my memory as though they 
had happened but yesterday. The various in- 
cidents followed each other so rapidly, and 
occupied such a short space of time, that I am 
sometimes inclined to believe I must have been 
in a dream, but a glance at an empty sleeve 
quickly dispels that illusion, and brings back 
to my mind the stern reality of those eventful 
days. And now to my story. 

It was the last day of September, 1864. 
Charley Fisher and I were in our tent eating our 
noontide meal of pork and hardtack, when 
Sergeant Dennis Mahony came in, and clap- 
ping Charley on the shoulder, said, Now, my 
boys, it’s come at last. There’s been heavy 

9 


10 


The Prisoners of War. 


fighting all along the line, and our brigade is 
ordered up. We break camp in an hour.’’ 

‘‘ I’m glad of it,” said Charley, ‘‘ here we 
have been nearly a month, and nothing but 
drill, drill, drill, from morning till night.” 

‘‘ And yet,” I said, ‘‘ I don’t think I shall 
ever make a good soldier. Why, only yesterday 
Lieutenant Dennison reprimanded me because 
I did not present arms properly.” 

The sergeant laughed. ‘‘ Never mind, 
Andy, my boy, we’ll teach you to present arms 
to the rebs.” So saying, he left the tent for his 
duties elsewhere. 

We finished our meal, and packing our traps, 
waited for the roll call. 

While we are waiting I shall give the reader 
an account of ourselves. 

Charles Fisher was the youngest son of a 
physician lately deceased, who had had an ex- 
tensive practise in Edgetown, a beautiful vil- 
lage on the Hudson River. I said the doctor’s 
practise was extensive, but it can scarcely be 
called lucrative, for at his death all his prop- 
erty was found to consist of the house in which 
he lived, together with ten acres of land, and a 
life insurance policy for $5,000. Besides Char- 


Introduction. 


II 


ley, there were two other children, James and 
Ellen. At the time of his father's death, James 
had just left college, and had begun to assist 
the old doctor, so he succeeded to his practise, 
but with the consent of his mother and sister, 
he had abandoned it and opened a drug store in 
the village. Selling medicine paid better than 
prescribing it, and when I came to Edge- 
town, about a year before the opening of my 
story, James Fisher was doing a fair business, 
and supporting his widowed mother in com- 
fort. Charley was studying law in ex-Judge 
Howard's office, but the young scamp was 
fonder of drawing inspiration from the bright 
eyes of Efffe Howard, the judge's only daugh- 
ter, than from Coke or Blackstone. As for my- 
self, I need only say that I was an orphan, a 
native of Scotland, and a distant relative of the 
Fishers, our mothers having been cousins. Be- 
ing a fair Latin scholar, and having gained 
a slight knowledge of medicine from my 
studies, James Fisher engaged me as his as- 
sistant, and I was getting quite proficient in my 
new calling when circumstances completely al- 
tered my career. 

One warm evening in July, Charley came 
into the store and asked for his brother. 


12 


The Prisoners of War. 


'' Gone out/’ I answered. 

“ I'm glad of it, for I wanted to speak to 
you alone. How would you like to join the 
army ? ” he asked abruptly. 

‘‘ How would I like it? Why, such a thought 
never entered my head. What makes you 
ask?” 

“ Only this. I see every day some of my 
friends going to the front, and I think I ought 
to do something for my country as well as 
others.” 

Well, have you asked your mother? ” 

‘‘ No,” said Charley, shaking his head, 
‘‘ that’s where I hesitate. I’m afraid she would 
not consent. But I’m determined to go, and 
I thought if you would like to go, too, her 
consent would be easier to get.” 

‘‘ Have you said anything to James about 
it?” 

Yes, and he thinks I only do my duty. He 
says he would go himself if it were not for his 
business, which, as you well know, is all 
mother has to depend upon.” 

Well, Charley, my boy. I’ll think over it, 
and if James thinks it right and our mother 
gives her consent, I may go with you, for to tell 


Introduction. 


13 

you the truth, Fve often thought I would like 
to see this famous army of the Potomac/' 

Charley had just entered his twentieth year 
and was rather delicate than otherwise^ but the 
stirring times had fired his soul, and his en- 
thusiasm communicated itself to all around 
him. His mother gave a rather reluctant con- 
sent, but still it was a consent, and that was 
enough for Charley. And so it came to pass 
that we both enlisted in the volunteer army, 
and went forth to do battle for the Union. 

Sergeant Dennis Mahony was a citizen of 
Edgetown, and had been Dr. Fisher's groom 
and gardener. He had been a member of the 
regiment since its organization, had been in in- 
numerable battles and skirmishes, but had never 
been wounded. He was a short, thick-set man, 
about thirty-five years of age, and the strongest 
man in the regiment. Every one loved him, 
for Sergeant Dinny, as he was called, was al- 
ways ready to do a good turn to a comrade. 
The sergeant loved Charley as if he were his 
own child, and Qiarley reciprocatied the 
attachment, for the faithful Irishman had been 
in Dr. Fisher's service since Charley was a 
child and had once saved him from drowning. 


14 


The Prisoners of War. 


CHAPTER IL 

AT THE FRONT. 

The bugle sounded and the regiment was 
drawn up in companies. Three days’ rations 
and forty rounds of ammunition were served 
to each man. 

‘‘ Hurry up there, Humbugger,” shouted the 
Sergeant to a German recruit, whose real name 
was Hamburgher, but which the boys found it 
easier to call Humbugger, ‘‘ hurry up, or you’ll 
get no rations.” 

‘‘ Just coming. Sergeant Dinny,” answered 
the Dutchman as he picked up the last of his 
traps. 

He was an odd-looking fellow; besides his 
arms and his knapsack he carried an extra pair 
of shoes flanked by a frying-pan, while a small 
hatchet dangled at his back. 

Do you intend to fight with all that rub- 
bish around you?” asked the Sergeant. 


At the Front. 


15 

“ I guess so ; them’s all useful things, and I 
may need them.” 

“ All right, my lad, go ahead.” 

Our regiment belonged to the Fifth Army 
Corps, and had been so badly cut up in the 
Wilderness and at the Weldon railroad that 
fully two-thirds of its present members were 
recruits, the most of whom had never been in a 
fight. After we had got fairly started, the 
Sergeant came up and marched beside us. 

“ Now, Charley,” he said, “ I want you to 
pay particular attention to what I am going to 
say. I know it will be the death of your 
mother, besides Miss Ellen, God bless her, if 
anything should happen to you, so I want you 
and Andrew to stick by me. I don’t mean that 
I will be able to save you from the bullets, but 
I don’t want to lose sight of you. Another 
thing I want to tell you : my experience has 
shown me that the brave soldier who does his 
duty has just as much chance as the coward 
who shirks and hides.” 

“ I believe it,” said Charley, “ and where 
you lead I will follow. I’ll do my duty, and if 
anything should happen, you’ll carry my love 
to my mother and sister. But what’s the use 


i6 The Prisoners of War. 

of thinking of such things? ’’ he added. You 
have been in almost every fight, and have never 
got a wound.’’ 

‘‘ That’s so,” said Dinny. ‘‘Why, last month 
we lost seventy men in one night on the Wel- 
don Railroad, and though the men on each 
side of me were killed, the only hurt I got was 
a knock on the face with one of the poor fel- 
lows’ guns.” 

The day was very warm, and we were choked • 
by clouds of dust, but after two hours’ march- 
ing we came to whdre a stream crossed the 
road, and the regiment halted for a few min- 
utes to give us a chance to fill our canteens. 
Again we started and marched on in silence; 
for the sound of guns was beginning to be 
heard, and as we advanced it grew louder and 
more unremitting. Soon we saw ambulances 
bringing in the wounded, some lying like dead 
men, others rolling and groaning in agony. 

I confess I felt sick at heart, and no wonder, 
for it was the first time I had seen the terrible 
reality of war. Charley, too, looked pale. 

“ What an awful thing war is,” he whispered 
to me, . 

“ It ii. indeed,” said the Sergeant, who 


At the Front. 


17 


had overheard Charley's remark, it made me 
sick the first time I saw a man killed, but the 
feeling soon wore off. You will soon get used 
to it, too. I don't think we'll do any fighting 
to-night," he continued, ‘‘ for it is beginning to 
rain, and it will soon be dark." 

It was as the Sergeant said; the rain fell in 
torrents, and it grew dark almost instantly. 
The firing, too, suddenly ceased and an awful 
stillness seemed to fall on everything. 

We were halted in what seemed to me a 
large open lot surrounded on three sides by 
woods. There we were ordered to rest, and 
throwing myself down on the wet ground, I 
slept as well as if I had been in a feather bed. 

2 


i8 


The Prisoners of War. 


CHAPTER III. 

CAPTURED. 

At the first streak of day we were aroused 
and set to work building breastworks. 

A party of us were sent to fetch in fence 
rails and posts, but I had not gone twenty 
paces when I stumbled over a dead body. A 
thrill of horror went through me, for this Was 
the first time I had come in contact with a dead 
man, and I thought how soon this poor fel- 
low’s fate might be my own. 

As the daylight grew stronger I noticed 
quite a number of dead bodies, their uniforms 
showing that they had belonged to both armies. 
A battle had been fought on the same field 
the day before, and the bodies of the killed had 
not yet been removed, but what surprised and 
disgusted me most was the fact that the pock- 
ets of every one of these were turned inside 
ont. Some villian — whether Union or Con- 


Captured. 


19 


federate I had no means of knowing — had 
been over the field during the night, robbing 
the dead, and I wondered that men could be 
found capable of such contemptible meanness. 

After a couple of hours’ hard work we had 
erected a substantial barricade, and we were 
all in good spirits as we sat down to break- 
fast. Having now a few minutes’ leisure, I took 
the opportunity to look around. The first 
thing I noticed was that our company was on 
the extreme end of the line, and with the ex- 
ception of the captain we were the outside men. 
On our right was the battlefield of yesterday 
with its dead still there. In front of this was 
a wood, the edge of which was nearly parallel 
with the end of our breastwork. In front of 
us was a large open space extending to the left 
for some distance and terminating in a low 
hill. This was Preble’s Farm, for the posses- 
sion of which both sides fought desperately 
two days in succession, but this I did not know 
till long afterwards. 

So far I had not seen any signs of an enemy, 
and the rebels might be miles away for aught 
I knew. Judge, then, of my astonishment, 
when before I had finished my meal, a shower 


20 


The Prisoners of War. 


of bullets flew amongst us, and the cries of the 
wounded filled the air. 

“ Down, men, down,’’ I heard some one 
shout, and we rushed to the shelter of the 
breastworks. 

‘‘ Now, boys, stick by me,” whispered Dinny;^ 
‘‘ and just do as I do.” 

I raised my musket and fired at the advanc- 
ing rebels, and then fell back to load. In my 
hurry and anxiety I forgot to tear the cart- 
ridge, and I had it rammed down before I re- 
membered what I had done. 

‘‘ What shall I do ? ” I cried in alarm, when 
all further anxiety was spared me on that 
score, for at that moment I fell, crushed to the 
earth by some heavy body falling on me, and 
before I could extricate myself we were sur- 
rounded and disarmed. 

‘‘ Holy Virgin ! ” cried Sergeant Mahony, 
his face streaming with blood, ‘‘ we are pris- 
oners. Where’s Charley? ” 

Here I am,” he cried, and turning round T 
saw him holding a canteen to the lips of poor 
Humbugger, who had been wounded in the 
thigh. 

Just then a rebel officer riding past saw the 


Captured. 


21 


humane action, and stopping his horse, he said, 
to Charley, ‘‘ You are a brave fellow to help a 
comrade when you might have escaped your- 
self.’’ 

‘‘ I never thought of that,” said Charley in- 
nocently. 

'‘What is your name?” asked the officer. 

"Fisher, sir; Charles Fisher.” 

The rebel started as if he had been shot. 
" Where do you come from ? ” he asked. 

" Edgetown on the Hudson,” said Charley. 

" I will see you again,” he said, then raising 
his voice he shouted, " Sergeant Grill, take 
these prisoners to the rear, and treat them 
kindly; no tricks, mind,” and off he rode. 

" Wa’al if that ain’t mean of the major, when 
I might have had a chance to get a good watch 
or somethin’,” I heard the rebel grumbling to 
himself. " Come, Yanks, move lively, we 
can’t stay here all day.” 

Sergeant Mahony had been struck by a bul- 
let on the cheek, which laid bare the bone, and 
carried off part of his ear. It was a painful 
wound, though not serious, and it had stag- 
gered him, so that he fell over me, which led 
to our capture. Everything had happened so 


22 


The Prisoners of War. 


quickly that I was quite bewildered. The rain 
was falling in torrents, and I was so wet and 
muddy I could scarcely support the weight of 
my clothes. We were escorted to the rear by 
Sergeant Grill, who asked me if I had a knife. 
I told him I had, but I wanted it myself. 

You may as well give it to me, for it will 
be taken from you at Petersburg,^’ he said. 

‘‘ Here, Sergeant,” said Charley, you are 
welcome to this knife, and now tell me who 
was that officer who spoke to me ; his face seems 
familiar to me.” 

“ That’s Major Fisher,” said the rebel, the 
Colonel is wounded, so he is in command at 
present.” 

‘‘ You are a Carolina regiment, ain’t you? ” 

‘‘ Yes, the most of my company belong to 
Wilmington, where the major lived.” 

‘‘ I believe that rebel officer is my uncle,” 
whispered Charley to me. You may have 
heard us speak of uncle Charles, my father's 
youngest brother.” 

Perhaps he is. He seemed to take an in- 
terest in you and said he would see you again. 
Perhaps he will get us paroled.” 

I don’t know about that, but if: is worth 


Captured. 


23 


trying. I never heard the reason why my 
uncle left home, but I know grandfather tried 
to find him out and induce him to come back. 
A friend of my father’s once met him in St. 
Louis, and spoke to him. He asked kindly 
enough for his relations, but declined to give 
his address. That is all I know about him.” 

We had now reached a road, and we were 
met by other parties bringing in prisoners. I 
had a valuable ring on my finger, and from 
what Grill said I would likely get it taken from 
me, so I put it in my pipe and filled up the 
bowl with tobacco. Just as the rebel had pre- 
dicted, we were searched at Petersburg, and 
then we were locked up in a large brick build- 
ing close by a railroad. There were at least 
1,000 men in the building, and as it had rained 
hard all day, we were soaked through. Cold, 
wet and hungry, we were left to pass the night 
as best we could, and it was the afternoon of 
the next day before we got anything to eat. 
Then a few mouldy biscuits were served out 
and we were put on board the cars for Rich- 
mond. 

The train reached its destination some time 
during the night, but we were kept in the car 


24 


The Prisoners of War. 


till daylight, a precaution taken, I suppose, to 
prevent any of the prisoners from escaping in 
the darkness. Shortly after sunrise we were 
ordered out, and after some delay in forming 
the ranks, while we stood shivering in the raw 
morning air, we were marched through a num- 
ber of deserted-looking, grass-grown streets to 
the Libby Prison, where we were allowed to 
rest for a few hours. About the middle of the 
day we were again ordered out, and a couple 
of colored men came into the building carry- 
ing a good-sized tub filled with pieces of 
boiled meat steaming hot. Each of the ne- 
groes had a long fork with which he fished up 
the ‘‘ chunks,'’ handing them to the prisoners 
as they passed out. 

“ What's this ? " asked Dinny, as he tried 
unsuccessfully to bite off a piece. ‘‘ It must be 
the tenderloin of a mule, if 'tain't. I'm a 
Dutchman." 

The negro grinned, but said nothing, and a 
rebel officer standing by ordered the sergeant to 
hold his tongue, and fall into the ranks. I was 
hungry enough to eat anything, but though 
I gnawed at my piece till my jaws ached, I 
could not bite a morsel off, and after trying 


Captured. 


25 


to suck some nourishment from the unsavory 
mess, I gave it up in despair, and threw the 
stuff into the gutter. A week later I would 
not have done such a foolish thing, but I had 
been a prisoner only forty-eight hours, and 
my appetite was as yet too dainty to relish 
such fare. 

After twenty-four hours' travel over a rail- 
road most wretchedly out of repair, we reached 
Greensboro, where we camped for the night 
in a large field near the track. I was desper- 
ately hungry, for the few crackers served out 
in the morning were barely sufficient for one 
meal, but I was lucky enough to gain the sym- 
pathy of one of the guards, who gave me a 
sweet potato in exchange for an old knife 
which the searcher at Petersburg had allowed 
me to keep, as it was not worth confiscating. 
After a night rendered sleepless by frequent 
showers, we were once more packed in the cars, 
and I was very glad to hear the guards say 
that we would soon be at our journey’s end. 


26 


The Prisoners of War. 


CHAPTER IV. 

SALISBURY. 

In the fall of 1864, the Confederate authori- 
ties at Richmond, finding themselves hard 
pushed by the armies of the Union, determined 
to send their prisoners to a place of greater 
safety than Libby or Belle Isle. Accordingly, 
on October 5, I found myself in company with 
some 1,500 other unfortunates at the gate of 
the Salisbury Military Prison. We were ad- 
mitted through a wicket gate, one by one, and 
counted off as we passed through. It was 
quite dark by the time our party was admitted, 
but we managed to get a resting-place under 
one of the few trees in the yard, and I soon 
forgot my misery in sleep. The recollection 
of that sleep lingers in my memory to this day, 
it was so deep, so dreamless, so excjuisitely 
refreshing. We were all in pretty good spirits 
as we walked around next morning taking a 
look at our new abode. It was simply an ob- 


Salisbury. 


27 


long lot containing about ten acres, and sur- 
rounded by a high wooden fence. There was 
a ditch about four feet wide and as many deep 
just inside the fence. This was called the 
dead line, because it was death to cross it. 
There was a large four-story brick building, 
which looked like a factory, and four or five 
smaller buildings at right angles with the large 
one, forming a square. In the large building 
rebel deserters were confined, while the others 
were used as hospitals and bakeries. 

'' It wouldn't be hard to get out of this,’' 
said I. 

Well, I don't know,’' answered the Ser- 
geant, but we'll know better by and by." 

Just then a drummer came out of one of the 
brick buildings and beat a call, and immediate- 
ly the wicket gate opened and some rebel offi- 
cers came into the yard. When the drum 
ceased, one of the officers stepped forward a 
few paces and cried, Non-commissioned offi- 
cers step out." Twenty or thirty men, Dinny 
amongst them, stepped out and walked to 
where the officer stood. The result of the 
conference may be briefly stated thus : The 
prisoners were put into divisions of 1,000 men 


28 


The Prisoners of War. 


under the command of a sergeant-major, and 
these were sub-divided into squads of lOO men 
under a sergeant. By good luck Dinny got a 
squad, which entitled him to double rations, a 
very great consideration in a place where we 
were allowed only enough to keep life in us. 
After an hour or two’s work everything was 
arranged to the satisfaction of Major Gee, the 
commandant, and then rations were issued. 
There were at this time nearly four thousand 
men in Salisbury Prison, and carloads were 
arriving every day, which soon swelled the 
number to ten thousand, and as fast as they 
came in the prisoners were put into squads and 
divisions. Our rations consisted of corn or 
wheaten bread, which was generally served in 
the morning, and rice soup with an occasional 
piece of meat at noon. Sometimes the bread 
was omitted, sometimes the soup, and more 
than once we got nothing at all. The ser- 
geant-majors were the best off of all the pris- 
oners, for they had the run of the bakeries, 
and they generally managed to get enough to 
eat. The commissioned officers were kept by 
themselves as much as possible, and after 
a while they were taken to some other prison. 


Salisbury. 


29 


which one it was I never learned. There was 
at this time nearly 4,000 men and others were 
arriving every day. There were only two 
wells on the grounds, so we had to take flour 
barrels and carry water from a creek about a 
quarter of a mile from the prison. Dinny, as 
sergeant of the squad, could send any one he 
pleased, so he detailed Charley and I, and gave 
us particular instructions to keep our eyes open 
and note everything outside. 

The prison was situated at the junction of 
two roads, a few hundred feet from the rail- 
road, and the other two sides were flanked by 
woods. I saw that if we could escape at all 
the easiest way would be by getting either 
under or over the fence on the side next 
the forest, and I told Dinny so when I 
got back. 

Aha, my boys, you think so, eh? You for- 
get the bloodhounds.’’ 

Bloodhounds,” I gasped, do they really 
use bloodhounds to hunt prisoners with?” 

I am told they do,” answered the Ser- 
geant, but we’ll wait till we know more about 
it. The weather ain’t cold yet, and as long as 
we get plenty to eat we need not care.” 


30 The Prisoners of War. 

Our life was now monotonous enough. 
Every day was like the last, excepting that it 
grew colder. Tents had been issued, but not 
enough to accommodate more than two-thirds 
of the prisoners, so the others dug holes in 
the ground and covered them with sticks, 
brush, or anything they could lay hands on. 
We did the same, and the place we chose was 
about twelve feet from the dead line on the 
side facing the forest. Our object in so doing 
was, if possible, to dig our way under the 
stockade. The dead line was not more than 
four feet deep, so we dug a hole about the 
same depth. 

The Sergeant climbed a tree, and with his 
knife, which he had managed to keep, he cut 
off some branches, and these formed the roof. 
We then covered it with brush and earth, and 
manufactured a door from barrel staves. 
We then dug a small hole about three feet 
deep, making seven feet from the surface, and 
commenced to dig forward toward the stock- 
ade. To insure ourselves against detection, 
we made a cover of staves for the hole, and 
covering this with earth, we made our fire 
on it through the day. Our only tools were 


Salisbury. 


31 


an old bayonet which Charley had found, and 
barrel staves. The dirt we carried out and 
scattered around the yard. It was exceed- 
ingly slow work, for we had to labor in the 
dark, and use great caution. After three 
weeks’ hard work we found we had got about 
ten feet which would bring us to the edge of 
the dead line. Ten feet more would bring us 
outside the fence. 

When we were captured Charley had a $50 
greenback. This I pinned under the lining 
of his blouse, and it had escaped the searchers. 
Now it proved a good friend to us. Inside the 
prison Confederate money sold at five to one^ 
so Charley got $250 for his greenback. We 
bought candles at the rate of three candles for 
five dollars Confederate money, and we con- 
tinued our excavation with renewed energy. 
It was now toward the end of November and 
the weather was cold and wet. Living in such 
a hole began to tell on our health. Pool- 
Charley was sick with diarrhoea, and was un- 
able to do his share of the work. One day the 
Sergeant and I were walking in the yard jusL 
as the guard was being relieved. All at once 
I heard shouts followed by a few shots, and in 


32 


The Prisoners of War. 


an instant the place seemed to be turned into 
a pandemonium. 

The prisoners had revolted. Some daring 
fellows had attacked and disarmed the guard, 
a few old men who did duty at the various 
wells and hospitals. With the arms thus ob- 
tained they rushed to the great gate, and 
knocking down the guards made their escape 
into the woods. Oh,’’ I cried, if Charley 
was only here, what a glorious chance.” 

In less than a minute from the first shot the 
stockade was lined with rebels firing as fast as 
they could on the defenseless crowd below. 
In vain the prisoners cried for quarter. For 
full fifteen minutes the firing continued, and 
it was with the greatest difficulty that Major 
Gee and his officers could make them desist. 
To make matters worse, a four-pounder gun 
was planted at one corner of the stockade and 
it poured a deadly shower of grape and canis- 
ter, tearing everything in its path. The Ser- 
geant had hold of my arm with a vise-like grip. 
When the firing commenced he stood behind a 
tree and ordered me to lie down and keep 
still. I obeyed, and there we remained while 
the storm of bullets whistled around us. That 


Salisbury. 


33 


bloody day’s work summed up seventy-six 
killed and wounded. At length the firing 
ceased, and little by little we managed to get 
to our hut. We were both anxious about 
Charley, for the house was so near the stock- 
ade, that if he had gone out during the firing 
he would certainly be shot. Fortunately the 
back stood toward the fence, so that there was 
little danger of a ball going through the thick 
earthen roof. 

Glad indeed we were when we found him 
just as we left him an hour before. He had 
been asleep when the firing commenced, and 
when he looked out and saw the prisoners 
running to their tents, he quickly crept back 
and closed the door. 

We were too much agitated by the excite- 
ment we had undergone to feel like working 
at our tunnel that night, and well for us it was 
so, for just at dusk, we heard a knocking at 
the door, and a shrill voice ordered us to come 
out. 

How many men are here? ” asked a young 
lieutenant. 

Three,” said the Sergeant. ‘‘ One very 
sick.” 

3 


34 


The Prisoners of War. 


Sick or well you must all come out till 
I search the place for weapons. Come, make 
haste, we can’t stay here all night.” 

We came out leading Charley, who could 
scarcely stand, and the officer himself sprang 
into the hole. By great good luck the fire 
was still burning, so he did not see any sign 
of our subterranean operations, but he saw the 
gleam of the bayonet, and bringing it out, he 
asked where we got it. 

‘‘ I found it,” said Dinny, and I used it to 
dig out the hole with.” He added : You can 
see it has not been on a gun for a long time. I 
hope you will leave it with us.” 

‘‘ No indeed,” said the officer, ‘‘ that’s 
against my orders. Are you sure that it is all 
the arms you have?” 

“ It is, sir,” answered the Sergeant. 

W ell, then, get back to your hole, and don’t 
leave it again to-night,” and with that they 
marched ofif to visit some other unfortunate. 

The loss of our bayonet was a very serious 
loss to us, as it left us with nothing but barrel 
staves to complete our tunnel. 

Bedad, I’ll steal something from the bak- 
ery, see if I don’t. I’ll get square with them 


Salisbury. 


35 


rebs somehow/’ said Diniiy, and sure enough 
he did, for two days after, when we were at 
the bakery drawing the squad’s daily rations, 
Dinny saw an axe on the floor close by the 
hearth. Stooping down he cautiously drew it 
toward him, and dexterously slipping it into 
the canvas in which our loaves had been 
counted, he covered it with the bread, then 
crying out, '' All right, go ahead,” we left the 
bakery with our prize. 

No one saw the transaction but the sergeant- 
major of our division, who was talking with 
the rebel officer of the day (whose back was 
toward us). The sergeant-major only smiled, 
but whether at some observation of the reb’s 
or at Dinny’s dexterity, I could not determine. 
At any rate we never heard any complaint 
about the ax, and we took care to hide it 
when out of use. With this tool we could do 
twice as much work as formerly, but one great 
difficulty was the want of ventilation in the 
tunnel. After working fifteen or twenty min- 
utes we were quite exhausted. 

About two weeks after the revolt, while we 
were at the bakery drawing the rations, who 
should we see but the young officer who had 


36 The Prisoners of War. 

searched our house. He was standing with 
his back to the fire, reading a paper. I saw it 
was the New York Herald, and at the head 
of it was a map, and I could see the word 
Tennessee in large letters. Happening to 
look round, his eye caught Dinny^s, who was 
staring at him with no friendly expression. 

‘‘ Ho, ho,’' said the reb, you’re the fellow 
that had the bayonet.” 

What bayonet?” asked Dinny, inno- 
cently. 

‘‘ Ho, ho, you can’t come that game on me. 
I’m from New Orleans, I am; I’m no sneaking 
Yankee.” 

‘‘ I guess that’s a Yankee newspaper you’re 
reading, ain’t it ? ” 

‘‘Yes,”' said he, rolling it up in a ball and 
throwing it into the fire. “ Yes, curse it. I 
wish I could as easily destroy the place it came 
from.” 

The paper ball, instead of falling into the 
flames as the rebel intended, struck against a 
log and bounded into the canvas amongst our 
bread. The officer was too angry to take no- 
tice where it went, so I quickly covered it up, 
and making a sign to Dinny to come, we 


Salisbury. 37 

slipped out, leaving the angry reb to vent his 
wrath on some one else. 

‘‘ I could shoot that fellow,” said Dinny 
when we got outside. Sneaking Yankee in- 
deed. I would ask nothing else than to meet 
him in a fair fight; we would see which was 
the sneak.” 

Never mind him, Dinny,” I said, trying 
to soothe my friend's temper, ‘‘ I wouldn't care 
for what he says, he is only a boy. I’ve got 
the paper and it will be something to read to 
Charley.” 

The newspaper had a map of part of Ten- 
nesee and North Carolina, and showed where 
the Union and Confederate armies were oper- 
ating at the time. We studied it all day, lay- 
ing our plans to get into our own lines, for 
Dinny never doubted for a moment his 
ability to get out of prison. Altogether it was 
the pleasantest day we had spent in Salisbury. 


38 


The Prisoners of War. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE ESCAPE. 

It was now well on in December and the 
weather was very cold. Snow had fallen once 
or twice, but not more than two inches. We 
worked hard at our tunnel, and had got it as 
far as the outer edge of the dead line, and 
another week's work would finish it, according 
to our calculations. One stormy evening just 
after roll-call, after we had, as usual, carefully 
secured the door, I scraped the embers off the 
hearth, and lifting off the cover, I descended 
into the hole. Lighting the candle I pro- 
ceeded along the tunnel, which felt colder than 
usual, and instead of the Stifling atmosphere, 
I could breathe as freely as if I were above 
ground. I had not gone many paces when I 
felt a puff of cold air on my face, and the can- 
dle went out. Rather alarmed at this unex- 
pected occurrence, I hastily returned. 

‘‘Candle gone out?" whispered Dinny. 


The Escape. 39 

Yes” I replied, and I told him what had 
happened. 

He started as if he had been stung. ‘‘ My 
God,’' he cried, ‘‘ the tunnel must have caved. 
Wait here till I go and see,” and he descended. 
In a few minutes he returned, and I knew by 
his quick breathing that something serious 
had happened. 

“ It has caved, sure enough,” he said. The 
dead line has fallen, and there’s a foot of water 
in the tunnel. You see it lias rained for two 
days, and the water has soaked through and 
loosened the earth..” 

What is to be done now ? ” I asked, without 
well knowing what I was saying, for I was be- 
wildered by the strange turn our affairs had 
taken. 

Charley had not yet spoken a word. Don’t 
you think we could dig out under the stock- 
ade?” he asked. ‘‘We are sure to be found 
out to-morrow, and we might as well try and 
get away to-night.” 

“ I think we can manage it,” said Dinny, 
cheerfully. “ The storm makes more noise than 
we will, and it is our only chance. We have 
no time to lose, either. I’ll go down again 


40 


The Prisoners of War. 


and try my hand at the fence. You two keep 
still, and wait till I come back.’’ 

We sat there in an agony of suspense. The 
minutes seemed hours, and we did not ex- 
change a word while the Sergeant was gone. 
The nearest approach to conversation was an 
occasional pressure of our clasped hands, for 
we seemed to know each other’s thoughts 
without the aid of words. Had I been alone 
I believe I should have gone mad. At length 
to our great relief the sergeant returned, and 
his cheerful ‘‘ All right,” made my heart jump 
with gladness. 

Now boys,” he said, ‘‘ pack up. I’ve made 
a hole big enough for a horse to creep through. 
I wish I knew what time it was. The relief 
comes about 9 o’clock and it will never do to 
be caught by them.” 

In a few minutes we had everything ready, 
and Dinny, taking the ax, led the way. With- 
out difficulty we got into the dead line, and 
Dinny had cut steps on the side next the stock- 
ade. Cautiously we raised ourselves, but 
there was little danger of being seen or heard^ 
for the storm howled through the forest with 
a rush and noise far exceeding anything we 


The Escape. 


41 


could do had we wished it. The night was as 
dark as a wolf’s mouth, and indeed we could 
not have chosen a more favorable time for our 
purpose. We crawled through the hole under 
the fence and followed Dinny on our hands 
and knees a short distance into the woods. 

The noise we made was entirely unheard 
amidst the uproar of the elements. The giant 
pines creaked and groaned as if in pain, and 
the stockade rocked to and fro as the wind 
smote it. 

At length the Sergeant arose, and taking us 
by the hand drew us toward him, and whis- 
pered : ‘‘ Charley, take hold of me, and you, 
Andy, take hold of Charley.” In this manner 
we proceeded toward the road with a caution 
that would have done credit to Indians. We 
soon got to the road and walked in the direc- 
tion of the depot. There was a freight train 
on the track, and the head light of the 
locomotive threw a glare right across the 
road. 

I guess wedl have to wait till that train 
leaves/’ said Charley. 

Indeed we won’t,” said Dinny, that 
train’s going west, and we are going with it; 


42 The Prisoners of War. 

come on,’' so saying he climbed the embank- 
ment. 

It was a long train and the last car was some 
distance below the depot, so we walked down 
the track intending to get on it, Dinny, who 
was leading the way, suddenly stopped and 
whispered, ‘‘ Bedad we're in luck, here's an 
open car; come boys, jump in." 

Without another word we clambered in and 
crouched behind some barrels that occupied 
one end of the car. We had not been two 
minutes in our new berth, when I saw a gleam 
of light flash across the roof of the car, and 
I heard a voice muttering, Confound it, that 
door's open again. Curse these Yanks' they've 
wrenched the bolt off.'’ With that the door 
shut with a bang and we were in total dark- 
ness. 

Now, boys," said Dinny, lay down and 
rest yourselves. We are all right so far ; the 
l)loodhounds we hear so much about won't 
track us this time." 

Charley had already found a place to suit 
him, and I crept into another corner. While 
feeling my way, my hand came in contact with 
something soft and warm. I felt my heart 


The Escape. 


43 


jump to my mouth, and just at that moment 
the train started. The jar threw me forward, 
and I fell with all my weight on the yielding 
mass. It struggled, and I heard a stifled 
voice cry, Mercy, Massa, mercy. Fse only 
a poor nigger.’’ 

A nigger,” I ejaculated, inexpressibly re- 
lieved. Dinny, there’s a nigger in the car.” 

''A nigger, eh? Well, wait till I strike a 
light, there’s no danger now ; ” so saying, he 
came toward us with the candle in one hand 
and the ax in the other. 

The darkey was evidently frightened, for he 
cried again, Mercy, Massa, I’se only a poor 
nigger.” 

‘‘ Well, I ain’t going to hurt you; and now 
tell us who you are and what you’re doing 
here ? What’s your name ? ” 

My name Sam, sah.” 

Sam what? ” asked the Sergeant. 

‘‘ Nufifin’ on’y Sam.” 

‘'And where are you going?” 

“ I’se goin’ to dad’s. Dad’s a free nigger.” 

“Are you free, too?” 

Sam hesitated, and seeing his embarrass- 
ment, Dinny said kindly, “ Don’t be afraid, we 
won’t betray you.” 


44 


The Prisoners of War. 


Thus assured, Sam informed us that he be- 
longed to a planter who (probably foreseeing 
the end of the war) had determined to sell 
his slaves; that Sam, getting wind of it, had 
run away, and had already traveled about fifty 
miles, that just a few minutes before we came 
in,, he had seen the open car and had crept in. 

“ Have you anything to eat ? '' asked Dinny. 

I got some pork, but I ain't got no bread,'’ 
he replied. 

“ Well, fetch along your pork, we have some 
bread." 

The bread and pork was produced and we 
made a hearty meal, for meat of any kind w^as 
a great rarity with us. 

‘‘ Now, boys," said the Sergeant, try and 
get some sleep. I'll keep watch awhile." 

W'"e needed no second invitation, so stretch- 
ing myself on the floor of the car, I soon fell 
asleep. I dreamed I was at sea, the ship was 
within sight of my native shore. Everything 
was gay and everybody in good spirits at the 
prospect of soon meeting beloved friends. A 
party of us were in the cabin drinking healths, 
and I was in the act of lifting a glass to my 
lips, when my arm was rudely seized, and I 


The Escape. 45 

heard a voice whisper, Come, Andy, get 
np/’ 

I woke and found Dinny shaking me to 
arouse me. 

I thought you would never wake,’’ he said. 

Now mind and wake me if the train stops.^’ 
I rose and went to the door. It was a few 
inches open, so I looked out. The rain had 
ceased, but the wind still blew fiercely, and great 
masses of cloud rolled and tumbled across the 
sky, completely obscuring the moon. The 
wind was very cold, too, and it chilled to the 
heart, so I closed the door and leaned against 
it with the ax in my hand ready for any 
emergency. My dream came back to my mind, 
and I fell into a profound reverie. Again I was 
at home on my native hills. Old friends came 
and went. I heard familiar voices and saw 
familiar faces. How long I remained thus I 
could not tell, but I was aroused from my 
dreaming by the train slacking her speed, so I 
woke Dinny. The others got up too, and we 
opened the door ready to jump out when the 
train stopped. 

Do you know this place, Sam?’' asked 
Dinny. 


46 The Prisoners of War. 

The darkey looked out and peered carefully 
around. “ This is Dallas/' he said. ‘‘ 'Tain't 
more'n ten miles to dad's." 

“ We'll get out here, then, and you'll guide 
us to your dad's." 

Cautiously we got out, and followed Sam, 
who slid down the embankment and we crept 
under a fence which skirted a wood. 

Now, Sam, are you sure you know where 
we are ? " asked Dinny. 

‘‘ Yes, sail, I knows very well. I can get to 
dad's before daylight, but we'll have to wait 
till the cars leave, for w,e got to cross the track 
again." 

‘‘ Where does your father live ? " 

‘‘ He lives in the Ridge." 

‘‘ What, the Blue Ridge? " 

‘‘ Yes, sail, the Blue Ridge. Dad's a free 
nigger and owns his own cabin. I knows 
every foot of this yere place for I was raised 
around here," said Sam, confidently. At that 
moment we heard the scream of a locomotive 
and a train came thundering along, and passed 
through without stopping. This was evidently 
the reason why our train had stopped, for as 
soon as the other had passed, she backed up 


The Escape. 47 

onto the main track, and started in its 
wake. 

'' Now look here, Sam,” said Dinny when 
the track was clear, and we were preparing to 
start, we are Yankee prisoners who have es- 
caped from Salisbury, and we want to get 
across the Blue Ridge, into Tennessee. If you 
betray us to the rebels, by God, Til murder 
you,” and he brandished the ax in a threaten- 
ing manner. 

‘‘ Oh, don't, Massa Dinny,” cried the negro 
in alarm. I wouldn't do no such thing. I 
is afraid of the sogers myself.” 

Well, go ahead and we'll follow you.” 

Accordingly Sam, closely followed by Dinny, 
clambered up the embankment, and he had just 
got on the track when I heard a deep voice 
challenge him, ‘‘Who goes there?'’ In an 
instant we dropped to the ground, and then I 
heard Sam say, “ I'se only a poor nigger.” 

“Well, nigger, what are you doing here?” 

The answer came in the shape of a blow that 
felled the sentry to the earth. Dinny had dis- 
charged the ax with all his force, and it struck 
him on the face and he fell without a groan. 

“ Quick, boys, quick,” whispered the bold 


48 The Prisoners of War. 

sergeant, and in a twinkling we were across the 
track and into the woods on the other side. 
Dinny followed in a few seconds, bringing 
with him the sentry's musket and the ax. “ I 
believe I’ve killed that fellow,” he said, ‘‘ he 
never moved after he fell.” 

“ Follow me,” said Sam, ‘‘ and look out for 
stumps.” 

We toiled on through the dark forest, over 
stumps, through brush, now up to the knees in 
a bog, then stumbling over logs and stones. 
Still on we toiled. I was almost dropping 
with fatigue, and poor Charley more than once 
begged us to leave him, and go on ourselves, 
but Dinny would encourage him to try a little 
longer. At length he fell over a stump and 
lay there unable to rise. Sam stopped and in- 
formed us that we were now in the mountains 
and quite near the road that led to his father’s 
cabin. 

It ain’t mor’n free miles. If Massa 
Charley is able to walk as far we can be there 
before daylight.” 

‘‘ Three miles,” said Charley, despairingly. 

I don’t think I can walk half that distance.” 

‘‘ Don’t give up the ship, my boy,” said 


The Escape. 49 

Dinny, it will be easier walking on the road, 
and ril give you a lift/’ 

We rested a few minutes and Dinny gave 
Sam his orders to keep a little in advance and 
be on his guard for strangers. ‘‘ And are you 
sure the road is perfectly safe ? ” asked Dinny 
for the second time. 

Oh, yes, there ain’t many people use this 
road.” 

‘‘ How long is it since you were here? ” 

I dunno for sure, but it was before the 
war.” 

'‘Not since then,” cried Dinny. "You will 
find things have changed ; it is a chance if your 
dad is living. However we’ll try the road, and 
it will be easier for Charley.” 

We started again, and a few minutes brought 
us to the road, if road it could be called. It 
seemed impossible that horses and wagons 
could travel over such ground, but the deep 
ruts proved that they did.- 

The wind had now fallen, and the sky was 
clear, and completely studded with stars. The 
cold was intense, but our hard exercise kept 
our blood in circulation. The road was very 
steep in places, and fearfully rough. Every 
4 


50 


The Prisoners of War. 


second we were stepping over the ankles into 
little frozen pools, and altogether it was a 
very uncomfortable journey. Towards the 
east, signs of approaching day were begin- 
ning to appear, when Sam again stopped, and 
told us that his dad's cabin was just a little 
distance. ‘‘ I'll show you where to hide while 
I go to see de old folks." So saying he stepped 
to the left, and led us to where three large 
trees lay together on the ground. ‘‘ These 
trees," said Sam, ‘‘ have laid there ever since 
I can remember. I guess you will find room 
enough inside and I'll fetch you something to 
eat by and by." 

Thankful for any kind of shelter, we crept 
under as far as we could. There was plenty 
of leaves and grass, and of these we gathered 
the dryest, and made a comfortable couch. 

‘‘ Now, boys, go to sleep," said the Sergeant, 

and I'll keep watch. I think we can trust 
that darkey. Ain't it lucky I got the reb's 
gun ? I would have taken his ammunition too, 
but I could not get at it easily and I was afraid 
to lose time." I heard no more, for I fell 
asleep. When I woke Dinny was lying at my 
side fast asleep, and Sam was sitting at our 


The Escape. 


51 

feet. Seeing me rise he made a sign to keep 
still, and pointed to some bread and meat on a 
tin plate. 

'' What time is it ? I asked. 

'' ’Bout noon, eat,” he said, pushing the 
plate toward me. 

I was very hungry and made a hearty meal. 

Now,” said Sam, you keep watch, and 
ril come back in the evening and bring some- 
thing more to eat.” 

When he had gone I looked around to see 
what kind of place we were in. The daylight 
streamed in through a thousand crevices in 
the brush and rubbish that had accumulated 
around the fallen trees. One tree lay on top 
of the others almost longitudinally, forming a 
long, narrow chamber, large enough to hold 
twenty men. I leaned back with the gun be- 
tween my knees, fully intending to keep a faith- 
ful watch, but before I was aware of it I fell 
fast asleep. 

‘‘You’re a nice sentinel, ain’t you?” said 
Sergeant Dinny when I awoke, but seeing my 
confusion he added kindly: “Well I mustn’t 
blame you too much ; you’ve had too much 
hard work for a recruit.” 


52 


The Prisoners of War. 


Have I been asleep long ? I asked. 

‘‘ At least two hours, for it is that time since 
I woke, and found you sitting there with the 
gun on your lap.'’ 

Has Charley slept all that time? " 

‘‘ Yes. Let him sleep all he wants, poor fel- 
low, he'll be the better for it." 

We sat and talked a long time till it began 
to grow dark. Charley woke up and ate the 
remainder of the food. 

‘‘ You've had a good sleep, Charley," said 
Dinny, ‘‘ how do you feel now ? " 

First rate. I feel ready for another 
march." 

We were beginning to be impatient for Sam 
to come, when that worthy made his appear- 
ance with a small parcel in his hand. 

‘‘ Now, Massa Dinny,'’ the faithful fellow 
said, ‘‘ little Jackey he seen the sogers down 
the road a-coming this way and he hurried 
back to let me know, so I think you had better 
be going." 

‘‘ Can't we stay here till the soldiers pass? " 
Not if they has dogs with 'em, they would 
scent you," said Sam. 

We all felt the force of Sam's reasoning, so 


The Escape. 53 

we quickly got out, and followed him through 
the intricacies of the wood. 

Now, Massa Dinny,'’ he said, for he 
always addressed him, knowing he was the 
leader. ‘‘ I’ll guide you to the road, you must 
follow it till you come to where the creek 
crosses it, then follow the stream till you come 
to the fall, then turn to the left hand, and you 
will get to the road again. It will save you 
more’n a mile.” 

“ Why, I thought you intended to go with 
us,” said Dinny, as we reached the wood, and 
Sam was bidding us good-by. 

No, sah, dad wants me to home, he says 
he got money enough to buy me hisself; nig- 
gers is cheap now.” 

Notwithstanding our evident peril, we could 
not resist laughing at this ludicrous remark of 
Sam’s. It was very foolish and likely to cost 
us dear, for we heard shouts a little distance 
behind us. De sogers, run for your lives,” 
cried Sam in alarm, springing back into the 
darkness of the woods. 


54 


The Prisoners of War. 


CHAPTER VI. 

RECAPTURED. 

We did not require Sam’s advice, for be- 
fore he had ended, we were off at the top of 
our speed. Charley was a little in advance 
and I was immediately behind, while the Ser- 
geant brought up the rear. It was snowing 
quite hard, and the wind blew it in our faces, 
making it difficult for us to see our way. Sud- 
denly Charley stumbled over some obstruction, 
and before he could recover himself I ran 
against him and we both fell heavily to the 
ground. Unfortunately, the ax which I car- 
ried flew out of my hand and struck poor Char- 
ley on the head, knocking him senseless. 

Oh, Dinny,” I cried, ‘‘ what shall we do 
now? Fm afraid Fve killed Charley.” 

Before he could answer, we heard a loud 
shout, and a hoarse voice called out, Halt 
there, or we’ll fire.” 


Recaptured. 55 

'' Run, Dinny, run,'' I cried, leave us and 
save yourself." 

‘‘ I can't leave Charley and you in this 
scrape," said the kind-hearted fellow. 

‘‘ Yes, yes, you must; you can do us more 
good if you keep out of their hands." 

‘‘ Bedad, that's so ; keep your eyes open, for 
I'll be around," and he crept off into the dark 
forest. 

In a few seconds our pursuers came up and 
the gruff voice again saluted us. 

Hello, who are you ? 

I answered with a groan, for a pang shot 
through my right leg as I tried to rise. Just 
then Charley came to himself and asked for 
Dinny. 

‘‘ Here I am," I answered quickly, and 
bending over as if to assist him, I whispered, 
“ Be careful. Dinny's escaped." 

With the assistance of our captors, we were 
lifted to our feet, and I was rejoiced to find 
that none of my bones were broken, though 
my leg was badly sprained, which made it pain- 
ful to walk for some minutes. ‘‘ Lean on me," 
said the man with the gruff voice in a kinder 
tone than he had hitherto used, ‘‘ and now tell 
us where are the others? " 


56 The Prisoners of War. 

'' What others ? I asked. 

‘‘ Come, come, no fooling. You escaped 
from Salisbury last night, didn’t you? 

‘‘ Well, supposing we did.’’ 

‘‘ Well, where are the other three men? ” 

‘‘Other three? No other three came with 
us.” 

“ Are you telling the truth? ” asked the reb. 

“ I’ll take my Bible oath that no other three 
escaped with us,” I replied. 

“ Well, now, that’s strange. Five men es- 
caped from Salisbury last night, two from one 
squad, and three from another. The lieuten- 
ant has the list with their names, but he is 
down at the depot. It is too far to go to-night. 
I reckon I will have to stop at the nigger’s till 
daylight.” 

While this conversation was going on we 
had been coming down the road, and had 
passed the place where Sam left us. My leg 
felt better, but I deemed it prudent to still feign 
lameness, and lean on my grufif guide for sup- 
port. The snow had ceased, but the wind blew 
keen and cold, and the idea of a shelter was 
very acceptable, especially as it might give 
Dinny a chance to do something for us. A few 


Recaptured. 


57 


minutes more brought us to the shanty, and my 
gruff friend, who was the leader of the party, 
knocked loudly at the door. 

Who's dar? " asked a voice which I knew 
to be Sam's. 

Open the door, you black son of a chicken 
thief, open quick or I'll bust it in.'’ 

A bolt was withdrawn, and the door opened. 
The rebs poured in, taking care to push us in 
front. Our party consisted of four men and 
the sergeant and wiih the others in the room 
we nearly filled the small apartment. An old 
negro man and woman were sitting over the 
fire, but they rose as we entered and stood back 
respectfully to let the whites get to the fire. 

‘‘ Why didn't you open sooner ? " asked the 
sergeant. 

'Cause we'se afraid it was the Yankees 
come to cut our froats,’' answered Sam pit- 
eously. 

The rebs laughed. It will be a long time 
before the Yankees get here," said one. 

‘‘ Unless as prisoners," said the sergeant. 
‘‘ Say, you nigger," he added, get us some- 
thing to eat, and lose no time about it." 

Yes, sah," said Sam. ‘‘ I'se got some pork 


58 - The Prisoners of War. 

and some corn meal and make some johnny 
cakes.” 

The old couple had retired to the other room, 
but the old woman now came back and went to 
work cooking supper for us. Sam went out 
and brought in a huge piece of bacon, and 
again he went out and after some delay he re- 
turned with an armful of firewood. I was sit- 
ting against one side of the fireplace, and as he 
stooped to fix the fire he gave me a significant 
look and whispered, Massa Dinny all right.” 

Until now, Sam had studiously avoided my 
eye, and I was beginning to suspect that he had 
betrayed us, but these words dispelled my sus- 
picions and raised a hope that Dinny would do 
something for our release. I turned to Charley, 
who was sitting opposite beside the Sergeant, 
and gave him a smile of encouragement. The 
rebel saw me, and looking kindly at me, he 
said, Poor fellow, I feel kinder sorry for you, 
but I am afraid it will go hard with you.’’ 

What ? ” I asked in surprise, for I thought 
he had overheard Sam’s words. 

‘‘ Oh, you know yourself. Which of you 
was it that killed the sentry down to the rail- 
road last night ? ” 


Recaptured. 


59 


I was thunderstruck. The remembrance of 
that affair had entirely passed from my mind, 
and now that it was brought up so unex- 
pectedly I could not utter a word in reply, but 
sat staring at my accuser. 

Ah, ha! it was you, then, was it? Your 
looks betray you.’’ 

‘‘ As God is my judge,” I cried, springing to 
my feet, and raising my hand, ‘‘ I am innocent 
of any such crime.” 

An incredulous smile passed over his fea- 
tures, but the solemnity of my assertion rather 
staggered him, and he asked in a more subdued 
voice, Who was it then? Was it him? ” look- 
ing at Charley. 

‘‘ No, it was not him.” 

Who was it then? Do you know who did 
it?” 

I was expecting this question, and was pre- 
pared for it. Again rising to my feet and 
looking the sergeant square in the face, I said 
with all the emphasis I could command : ‘‘ Now 
look here. Sergeant, you tell me that five pris- 
oners escaped from Salisbury last night; I tell 
you they did not escape with us. You say a 
sentinel was killed by these prisoners and I say 


6o 


The Prisoners of War. 


tliat neither of us killed him. Now do you be- 
lieve me ? ’’ 

‘‘ I do/’ said the reb rising, ‘‘ and there’s my 
hand on’t, and I am very glad of it,” and he 
gave me a squeeze that brought the tears to my 
eyes. 

To my great relief supper was now an- 
nounced, and then Sam asked permission to 
withdraw to assist his old father, who was 
‘‘ bad with rheumatis,” he said. If you want 
anything just call me,” he added. 

All right,” said the sergeant, whom the 
supper had put in a good humor, go ahead.’’ 

“ Have you anything to drink?” asked the 
reb, as Sam came back to the kitchen for some- 
thing he had forgotten. 

‘‘ There’s some apple-jack in the cellar, 
Massa, if that will do,” he replied. 

‘‘ Just the very thing we want, fetch it 
along.” Sam lit a lantern and went out. He 
was gone perhaps ten minutes and the soldiers 
were getting impatient, when he returned with 
a small stone jar and some horse blankets. 
He laid the jar on the table and coming over 
to where Charley and I sat, he spread a blanket 
on the floor and handed me another one. 


Recaptured. 


6i 


“ You can sleep there/' he said aloud, then 
lowering his voice he whispered, don't drink. 
Now, Massa, if you please, I'se go to bed, for 
I has to rise early.’' 

“ All right, my boy. I'll attend to the pris- 
oners, and see that the door is barred." 

Sam mounted a rude ladder to a sort of at- 
tic, and the sergeant, taking the ladder away, 
cried to him, I'll keep you there in case of 
accidents; the Yanks might try to escape." 

All this time the rebs had been busy drink- 
ing, and now the sergeant offered me a cupful, 
but remembering Sam's caution I declined it. 

‘‘Temperate, eh?" he exclaimed. “You'll 
never make good soldiers till you can drink 
your share." 

I replied that we were tired and wanted res^ 

“Yes, yes, sleep all you can; it is a long 
march to the junction, and we must start at 
daylight." 

The contents of the jar having been drunk, 
the rebs spread themselves before the fire, 
while the sergeant bolted the door, and placed 
the ladder against it. Then he sat down at 
the table and lighting his pipe, began to smoke. 
I could see him plainly through a hole in the 


62 


The Prisoners of War. 


blanket, and I watched him intently, for from 
Sam’s hint I had an idea that the liquor had 
been drugged, and I expected soon to see him 
fall asleep. Nor was I mistaken, for he soon 
began to nod, and by and by he laid his head 
upon the table, and I knew by his heavy breath- 
ing that he was unconscious. Still I was 
afraid to stir, or make the least noise till I was 
perfectly sure he was really asleep. We lay 
there perhaps an hour in this state of suspense, 
when Charley whispered, I hear something 
below.” I listened intently, when 1 felt as if 
I was being pushed up. With great caution 
we rose up, and pulling the blanket away found 
we had been lying on a trap door. At the 
same time the trap began to rise and Dinny’s 
face appeared. 

Hastily, but in perfect silence, we lifted the 
trap and descended to the cellar, the door of 
which stood open with the moonlight stream- 
ing in. We were soon outside, and on the 
road again, and we ran till we were out of 
breath. 

‘‘ Oh, Dinny,” cried Charley, I am so 
glad.” . 

‘‘ So am I, boy,” said Dinny. I didn’t 


Recaptured. 


63 


think it would be such an easy job, but thanks 
to Sam we managed it. I hope he won't come 
to harm from the rebs." 

They can't blame him for our escape,’' I 
observed, for they took away the ladder and 
left him as much a prisoner as we were." 

Yes, I know," he said laughing, ‘‘ I heard 
it all. I was in the cellar all the time." 

Tell us all about it," said Charley. ‘‘ I 
am curious to know how you worked every- 
thing so well." 

Oh, easy enough. You know I followed you, 
and when you went into the shanty I waited 
outside till I saw Sam come out. I followed 
him and found him coming out of the cellar. 
He knew me at once, and motioned me to go 
into the cellar. Next time he came he had a 
light and he showed me the trap door. I told 
him to contrive that you should lie there, so as 
to make sure of getting out that way. I asked 
him if the old folks slept sound. He said the 
old man had rheumatism and had to take some- 
thing to make him sleep, but he couldn't tell 
me what it was so I asked him to let me see it. 
When he came for the apple-jack he brought a 
small bottle labeled laudanum, and told me the 


64 


The Prisoners of War, 


old man sometimes took a teaspoonful. I 
knew well what it was for, I had seen Dr. 
Fisher prescribe it many a time, so I calculated 
five teaspoonfuls to a quart of spirits would 
make the rebs sleep and give us a chance to get 
away unobserved. I heard how nicely you 
bamboosled that thick-headed rebel sergeant. 
Bedad, Andy you ought to have been a law- 
yer.’’ 

‘‘ Well,” I said, ‘‘ I did not like to tell a de- 
liberate lie, but at the same time I could not 
very well tell the truth, so I was compelled to 
equivocate.” 

‘‘ It was no murder anyhow,” said Dinny, 
‘‘ he would have done the same to me.” 

‘‘ Were you not afraid of being overheard,” 
asked Charley. 

‘‘ Not a bit. We made up our plans at the 
end of the cellar under the old folks’ room, and 
as soon as Sam left I went to the other end to 
listen to the conversation. When the rebs 
were fast asleep, Sam let me know by drop- 
ping something over the window which was 
right above the cellar door, and then I raised 
the trap. You know the rest.” 


In the Mountains. 


65 


CHAPTER VII. 

IN THE MOUNTAINS. 

We had now reached the brook, and follow- 
ing Sam’s directions, we turned to the right 
and followed the course of the stream. At 
Dinny’s suggestion we waded for a little dis- 
tance, but the water was too cold, and the bed 
so uneven that we soon abandoned it. We 
now pursued our way in perfect silence. The 
road was fearfully rough, and our progress 
was necessarily slow, but still we toiled on, 
and after an hour’s hard walking we heard the 
sound of falling water, so we crossed the 
stream below the falls, and soon had the satis- 
faction of getting back to the highway. Let 
us rest here awhile,” said the Sergeant, throw- 
ing himself down at the foot of a large tree. 
‘‘I feel hungry now, don’t you?” 

And thirsty too. I’ll bet? ” 

Yes indeed, we are,” said Charley, and 
my head pains me a good deal.” 

S 


66 


The Prisoners of War. 


‘‘ Take a mouthful of this/’ said Dinny, 
handing Charley a bottle, that’s some of 
Sam’s apple-jack, it will do you good.” 

Charley took a good pull and handed it to 
me. Only those who have been in a similar 
situation can appreciate the good that small 
quantity of stimulant did us. I felt like a 
new man, and I wondered that Dinny did not 
take some when I gave him back the bottle. 

I had my share before,” he said, and I 
want to save this for another time.” 

I tell you what, boys,” he continued, ‘‘ that 
boy Sam is a jewel. I never was partial to 
niggers, but Sam has cured me, and I would 
not be ashamed to acknowledge him as my 
brother. Here’s rations enough for three days, 
and surely before that we’ll be out of these 
mountains.” 

I hope so,” said Charley, presently. ‘‘ I 
don’t think I can stand this fatigue much 
longer.” 

‘‘ Well, let us be going, we must get as far 
away from the rebs as we can.” 

The day dawned clear and cold. As nearly 
as I could judge we had been three hours on 
the road, and must have walked at least fifteen 


In the Mountains. 67 

miles. We were now in a peculiarly desolate 
region. A heavy mist hung over the face of 
the mountains, but as the daylight grew 
stronger the fog lifted and revealed to us the 
dreariest landscape I had ever looked on. All 
around, as far as I could see, the ground was 
covered with immense boulders, in some 
places singly and in others piled up to a height 
of fifty or sixty feet. Scrubby brush and 
dwarf pines were the only vegetation visible, 
and altogether it was a very picture of desola- 
tion. “ Surely we can find a shelter amongst 
these rocks,” said Charley, “ my head aches 
as if it would split, and my legs as if they 
would sink under me.” 

“ I’ve been looking for a place to rest ever 
since daylight,” answered the Sergeant, “ and 
I daresay we will find one among these rocks.” 

We left the road and clambered over the wet 
and slippery rocks in search of a safe retreat. 
There was no difficulty in finding one, but 
Dinny was not easily satisfied. He wanted to 
get where he could see the road without being 
seen, so we continued our search till we had 
found one. 

“ Here,” cried the Sergeant, creeping under 


68 


The Prisoners of War. 


an immense boulder that rested on two others, 

this will do firstrate.’’ 

The cavern (if cavern it could be called) 
was about four feet high and large enough to 
hold six men comfortably. The bottom was a 
flat rock, slightly inclined and perfectly dry. 

'' Now, boys, my advice is for you to go to 
sleep right away and Fll keep guard.'’ 

This advice exactly coincided with our in- 
clinations, for we were very tired, while the 
Sergeant seemed as fresh as if he had just got 
out of bed. I enjoyed a splendid sleep, and 
when I awoke Dinny was snoring at my side 
and Charley was on guard. He was watching 
something outside, and suddenly he drew 
back as if to screen himself from observation. 

''What's the matter, Charley?" I asked, 
"do you see anything suspicious?" 

" There's a troop of cavalry passing down 
the road. See." 

About half a mile below our position a por- 
tion of the road was visible and I counted over 
twenty troopers as they rode past. 

" These men can't be in search of us,’' said 
Charley. 

"I guess not; they wouldn't send so many 


In the Mountains. 69 

men after a few prisoners. What made you 
draw back so suddenly? '' I asked. 

'' Because one of them stopped and pointed 
right toward me. I actually thought he had 
seen me.’’ 

‘‘ Have you seen any others ? ” 

Not a soul. I’ve been on guard about three 
hours and these rebs are the first living beings 
I’ve seen. You had better eat your dinner 
now, for Dinny intends to leave before dark.” 

I had not time to finish my meal when an- 
other exclamation from Charley brought me to 
my feet. 

Here’s more of them, coming up the road, 
and, good heavens ! they have a dog. Dinny, 
Dinny.” 

The sergeant sprang up in such haste that he 
struck his head against the low roof of the cav- 
ern. With a muttered curse against low roofs 
in general, he asked what was the trouble. 

The rebs are after us and they have a dog 
with them,” said the excited Charley. 

Well, well, keep cool, boys; we’ll fool them 
yet. If they depend on their dog, he won’t 
amount to much amongst these rocks.” 

While he was speaking we were gathering 


70 The Prisoners of War. 

our things together, and we crept quietly out 
of the cave, and followed the brave Dinny over 
the rocks in a direction opposite to the road. 
It was fortunate for us that it was daylight, or 
we never should have been able to make our 
way over such ground. Many of the boulders 
were twenty feet high, and seemed to hang on 
nothing. At length, after incredible exertion, 
we got to comparatively smooth ground and 
our advance was more rapid. 

‘‘We must try and get to the road again,’’ 
said Dinny, “ or we shall get lost.” 

It was too dark to see, and the moon was low 
yet, so we sat down at the foot of a rock to rest 
ourselves, and arrange our plans. “ Do you 
think it is safe for us to try the road? ” asked 
Charley, nervously. “ I don’t like the idea of 
being hunted like a wild beast.” 

“ I can’t answer for the safety of it,” replied 
the Sergeant, “ but I think it is the best thing 
we can do under the circumstances.” 

Taking the pile of boulders for our guide?, 
we calculated that by keeping to the right we 
should strike the road some distance above the 
place where we left it. The moonlight was 
now of good service to us, enabling us to pick 


In the Mountains. 71 

our way with comparative ease, and we soon 
reached the highway. 

Hush,’’ said Dinny, as we stood at the foot 
of an immense rock that skirted the road. ‘‘ I’ll 
see if the coast is clear first. ‘‘ All right,” he 
whispered, after a hurried look up the hill. We 
had not proceeded ten paces when I was 
startled by a voice overhead, '‘Halt, there!” 
I turned and saw standing in bold relief 
against the bright sky the figure of a man in 
the act of raising his musket to his shoulder. 
Another instant and a ball whistled over our 
heads, and we flew up the road like startled 
deer, nor did we slacken our pace till a turn in 
the road hid us from our pursuers. 

The shouts of the rebels were plainly heard, 
and we continued our way as fast as we could, 
for we knew it was our only chance of escape. 
To our great relief we heard the sound of 
water, and in a few minutes \ve came to a lit- 
tie stream that ran across the road. 

"Wade,” cried Dinny, stepping into the 
water, and we followed his example. 

The water was very cold, but not more than 
five or six inches deep, and the bed was as even 
as the road itself. Our pursuers were not far 


72 The Prisoners of War. 

behind, as we could tell by their shouts and 
yells, and we strove to put as great a distance 
between them and us as possible. We had not 
gone far, however, when Charley began to fag. 

“ Oh, Dinny,'’ he cried, ‘‘ I can stand this no 
longer; Vm played out.'’ 

Dinny was in the rear, ready to shoot the 
first man that appeared. 

‘‘ Make for that rock, then," he whispered, 

it's our only chance." 

This was a high rock a little to the right, 
which stood clear and sharp against the sky. 
This we began to ascend, assisted by the vines 
and roots which grew around it, and for the 
present we had an advantage over our enemies, 
for we were in the shade, while they would be 
compelled to show themselves before they 
could reach us. We now heard the baying of 
the dog, and I felt the blood leave my heart at 
the ominous sound. 

‘‘ Oh, God," cried Charley, ‘‘ it's all up with 
us." 

The Sergeant spoke not a word, but kneeled 
with his gun ready, while we crouched close 
to the ground, and awaited events. We had 
not long to wait, for soon we heard the foot- 


In the Mountains. 


73 


steps of our pursuers, and the louder baying of 
the dog. He had lost the trail in the water and 
was trying to find it. We could see the huge 
brute run\ thither and hither with his nose 
close to the earth, and at last he stood stock 
still just on the spot where we had left the 
stream. As the dog stopped with his nose on 
the ground as if to make sure that he had 
struck the trail, Dinny fired. I heard a howl 
and a splash, and in another moment a volley 
of bullets flew around us. 

Hurry up, Andy ; we’ll get the best of 
them yet.'' 

With renewed hope I sprang forward, 
swinging myself up the stumps and vines. I 
was making my way through some vines which 
lay right across my path when I felt the ground 
give way beneath my feet, and I fell into an 
abyss. In my descent I struck against some- 
thing, and I remembered no more. 


74 


The Prisoners of War. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE CAVE. 

When my senses returned I felt an aching 
pain all over my body, and Charley was bath- 
ing my face. I heard him say, ‘‘ Fm afraid 
poor Andy is badly hurt.’' 

Oh, Charley,” I groaned, where am I ? ” 
Hush, Andy, you’re all right now,” said 
Dinny. Keep perfectly still or the rebs will 
find us out. Are you much hurt? ” 

“ Oh, yes, Fm sore all over. Fm afraid some 
of my bones are broken.” 

Hush, keep still. I hear something.” 

We sat a few moments in perfect silence. I 
heard two or three shots and then all was still. 
Suddenly I heard a crashing overhead and a 
heavy fall just at my feet. An explosion fol- 
lowed which shook the cavern like an earth- 
quake. One of the soldiers had fallen into the 
cavern and his gun had discharged itself. 
The flash revealed it all to us, and Dinny 


The Cave. 


75 


seemed to comprehend it instantaneously, for 
he sprang onto the prostrate figure, and I 
heard him say in a hoarse whisper, ''If you 
speak a word you're a dead man." 

The fellow neither spoke nor moved. Char- 
ley and I went to assist Dinny if it should be 
necessary and we found the rebel lying rolled 
up like a ball, stone dead. He had broken his 
neck. 

" Well, Fm glad of it," said the Sergeant, 
when assured the fellow was really dead. " I 
couldn't murder a poor fellow in cold blood. 
Here's a streak of good luck. Another gun 
and twenty rounds of ammunition." With 
extreme caution he loaded both weapons and 
gave one to Charley. 

" We'll get to the other end of the cave," he 
said, " and if any more rebs come they’ll get a 
warm reception. Andy, my lad, go first and 
lie down. I guess we'll have to stay here a 
day or two till you get over your fall." 

I crawled to the end of the cavern where it 
was narrowest. I tried to sleep, but the pain in 
my side prevented me from enjoying that 
luxury. The cave seemed to me to be open at 
my end, for I felt cold puffs of wind occasion- 


76 


The Prisoners of War. 


ally, but I did not want to disturb iny coni' 
rades by complaining. I was in a half-sleeping 
condition when I heard a scratching close by 
me. 

Oh, dear,'’ I exclaimed, ‘‘ are the horrors 
of this night never going to end? " 

‘‘ What's the matter, Andy ? " asked Dinny. 

Look," I screamed in terror, for a couple of 
blazing eye-balls were glaring at me. 

‘‘ A bear, I guess," said Dinny quietly, 
creeping toward me. ‘‘ Don’t fire, Charley, 
but take the ax. Now, Andy, get back and 
leave him to us." 

The animal growled but did not ofifer to 
move. Dinny made a furious thrust at him 
with his bayonet. The beast roared and strug- 
gled and I saw his head vibrate from side to 
side, and his eyes dilate with rage and pain. 

Now, Charley, give me the ax," cried Dinny, 
mad with excitement of the battle, and giving 
the beast thrust upon thrust. With the gun in 
one hand and the ax in the other, the combat 
was too unequal to last, and the bear soon suc- 
cumbed to the brave Sergeant's prowess. I 
wouldn't have risked firing at him, had he bit 
my hand off," said Dinny, when he recovered 


The Cave. 


77 


his breath, but we will have to prepare in case 
his mate comes. I guess this is their den, and 
what we took for the rear is really the en- 
trance.’’ 

Dinny and Charley pushed the carcass back 
toward the entrance to block the path against 
any more visitors. 

‘‘ If his mate does come she’ll stop and ex- 
amine it,” said Dinny, so we had better be on 
the alert. I wish it was day.” 

Daylight came at last, and showed us a long, 
narrow cavern. The place where I had fallen 
through was about fifteen feet from the floor, 
and the only place that admitted the light. 
Stems of vines hung downward, and the dead 
body of the rebel soldier lay just as he had 
fallen. 

“How do you feel this morning?” asked 
Charley. 

“ I can scarcely tell,” I answered. “ I feel 
a pain in my side every breath I draw.” 

“ Then some of your ribs are broken,” he 
said. “ I think I can do something for you. 
I have seen my father fix broken bones many 
a time.” 

I stripped myself according to Charley’s di- 


78 


The Prisoners of War. 


rections, then taking a strip of canvas for a 
bandage he strapped it around my body. 

‘‘ Now take a full breath.’’ 

I did so, and he and Dinny pulled the band- 
age as tight as I could bear it. 

“ You’ll have to wear that at least three 
weeks, till the bones knit again.” 

We now ate breakfast, and then my com- 
panions went to work at the bear. 

‘‘ We can stay here a week, if necessary; we 
have plenty of fresh meat,” said Dinny, drag- 
ging the carcass to the light. 

The head was literally hacked to pieces. 

Dinny skinned him and cut off the quarters. 

'' I would like a piece of that,” he said, 
but it wouldn’t do to light a fire. Fll have 
to reconnoiter first ; but before we do any more 
I shall bury this poor fellow,” pointing to the 
dead soldier. 

He dragged the body to the other end of the 
cave, and covered it with leaves and earth, then 
came back with the reb’s jacket in his hand. 
‘‘ ril wear this now,” he said, it will keep me 
warm, and I’ll pass for a Johnny if I should 
happen to be seen. I am going to take a look 
around. Keep perfectly still till I come back.” 


The Cave. 


79 


Dinny crept through the narrow entrance 
where the bear came in. In about half an hour 
he returned with a canteen of water and some 
pieces of wood. 

There’s not a soul to be seen,” he said. 
'' Tve been down to the stream and I saw the 
dead hound, but nothing else. There are 
bloody tracks outside, so I think the bear had 
been wounded before he came here.” 

'' Perhaps that was the shots we heard,” said 
Charley. 

Very likely.” 

I was in so much pain that I took but little 
interest in the conversation, so I laid down and 
tried to sleep. Charley spread out the bear 
skin. It was a soft, warm bed, and at last I 
fell asleep. When I woke a fire was burning 
and a savory smell pervaded the cavern. We 
had a splendid supper of bear’s steaks, and then 
I offered to keep guard while the others got 
some sleep. 

The Sergeant seemed doubtful of my ability, 
but I assured him that I had had enough of 
rest to do me for some time, so he carefully ex- 
tinguished the fire, and giving me strict injunc- 
tions to wake him if I heard anything, he lay 


8o The Prisoners of War. 

down beside Charley, who was already asleep. 
The night passed quietly, and they slept 
soundly. Dinny woke before daylight, and 
lighting a fire he cooked some bear meat. 

“ You see,’’ he said, ‘‘ I want to cook as 
much as will do us for some days, and we’ll 
start to-morrow if you are able to walk.” 

‘‘ I think I will be ; at least I hope so, for I 
am tired of staying in this dark hole.” 

The day passed quietly. Dinny went to the 
stream for water, and reported all quiet. An- 
other night and day passed, and we were all 
ready for our journey. I felt stifif and sore, 
but a few minutes’ exercise warmed my blood 
and I got along as well as the others. 


An Old Acquaintance. 


8i 


CHAPTER IX. 

:an old acquaintance. 

It was early in the afternoon when we left 
the cave, for Dinny wanted to get to the mad 
before dark, and the entrance to the cavern be- 
ing on the opposite side to the stream, it took 
ns a little time to get around the hill. On the 
bank of the stream the dead dog still lay. He 
was an immense black hound, and I shuddered 
as I passed him. ‘‘ What a savage-looking 
brute,’’ said Charley. 

Yes, indeed,” said Dinny. “ It was better 
to kill him than a man.” 

We retraced our steps down the stream till 
we struck the road, then Dinny, taking the 
lead, cautioned us to keep our eyes open in case 
of a sudden surprise. My side pained me a 
good deal, but I forbore complaining, as I 
knew it would only annoy my companions. 
Just as evening was coming on we entered a 
6 


82 The Prisoners of War. 

ravine. It was a narrow gap, the rocks on 
both sides rising perpendicular to the height of 
perhaps fifty feet. ‘‘We must hurry through 
this place,’’ said the Sergeant, quickening his 
pace, “ it would be awkward to meet the rebs 
here.” 

The ravine was nearly a quarter of a mile 
long, and we were turning a sharp curve to- 
ward the end, when we were startled by the 
sound of horses’ feet, and before we had time 
to conceal ourselves a horseman came round 
the corner at a smart trot. To run was use- 
less, for there was no place to hide ourselves. 
“About face,” whispered Dinny; “it’s our 
only chance. Don’t speak a word, but leave it 
all to me.” 

“ Halt there ! ” shouted the horseman., riding 
up. 

We stopped, and the Sergeant, seeing he had 
an officer’s uniform on, saluted. 

“ Who have you got there? ” he asked. 

“A prisoner, sir; an escaped prisoner from 
Salisbury.” 

“ And who are you ? ” he asked, coming 
near. “Your voice is familiar to me. Ho! 
ho!” he shouted. “You are the Yankee ser- 


An Old Acquaintance. 83 

geant, surrender/’ and, drawing a revolver, he 
leveled it at Dinny. 

Don’t shoot. Captain,” cried the Sergeant, 
stepping aside, ''we uns ain’t Yankees.” 

" Who are you then ? Where do you be- 
long? ” 

" We belong to the detachment down at the 
junction.” 

" You’re a liar, I know you are the Yankee 
sergeant, take that.” 

A ball whistled by Dinny’s ear, and without 
waiting for another, Dinny sprang at him with 
his musket clubbed, and struck him a terrific 
blow on the breast, which swept him off his 
horse as if he had been a child. 

The pistol dropped from his hand, and I 
picked it up, while Charley caught the horse 
by the bridle. Dinny lifted the inanimate 
form, and laid it across the saddle. 

" Get back to the wood, quick,” he said, 
" perhaps he has comrades not far behind.” 

We hurried back to the end of the ravine, 
and entered the forest. It was nearly darlc and 
snow was falling. We stopped under a pine 
tree, and Dinny lifted the officer off the horse 
and laid him on the ground. 


84 


The Prisoners of War. 


‘‘ He won't trouble us again," said the Ser- 
geant after a moment's pause. ‘‘ Pve cleared 
off old scores with him, and now I forgive 
him." 

There was something so exquisitely ridicu^ 
lous in the idea of forgiving a man he had just 
killed that I could not forbear laughing. 
Dinny turnd round and sharply asked what I 
was laughing at. Seeing he was annoyed, I 
answered that it was at his acuteness in pre- 
tending he was a genuine rebel who had caught 
a prisoner. 

‘‘ Well, he's dead, sure enough, and I killed 
him in a fair fight. He fired at me first, so I 
have nothing on my conscience on that score. 
Now boys," he continued, ‘‘ I have an idea 
that I think will help us. This reb's uniform 
will just about fit you, Andy. You will person- 
ate him for the time being, and if you are as 
smart as I think you are, we may be able to 
pass the lines. We must find out who and 
what he is if he has any papers about him. 
What do you think about it, Andy? " 

I felt a repugnance at the idea of stripping a 
dead man, but Dinny overruled my objections. 


An Old Acquaintance. 85 

‘‘ ril fix it all right/’ he said. '' You stay here 
till 1 bury him, and fetch the clothes.” 

'' You are a nobby reb,” said Dinny in ad- 
miration, when I had donned my borrowed 
plumage, '' and as Charley has a pair of rebel 
pants I guess we’ll pass in a crowd. Now let 
us see what is in the pockets.” 

In the breast pocket was a large pocketbook 
full of papers. Dinny lit a piece of candle, and 
hiding the light in his hat, I emptied the pock- 
etbook. We knelt around the hat and ex- 
amined the contents. There w'ere two gold 
eagles and three five-dollar greenbacks, also a 
considerable sum of Confederate scrip. There 
were also two envelopes addressed to Lieuten- 
ant C. F. Pinckney. One contained a pass 
signed by Colonel Smith, commanding a 
bigade, and countersigned by the corps com- 
mander. 

The very thing we want,” said Dinny, joy- 
fuly. We’ll make our way sure.” 

The other envelope contained a letter which, 
as it has some connection with my narrative, I 
here copy in full. It was dated October 5, the 
very day we entered Salisbury Prison, and ran 
thus : 


86 


The Prisoners of War. 


My Dear Nephew : 

Your friend Captain Roberts called at my 
quarters yesterday, and delivered your com- 
munication. From some words he inadvert- 
ently dropped during our conversation, I have 
reason to believe he suspects something. For 
your own sake I would again caution you to be 
careful. 

Colonel Syme died yesterday, so I am now 
in command. We took a number of prisoners 
in a skirmish on the ist. One was named 
Charles Fisher, a private, 95th N. Y. See if 
that name is on the Salisbury list, and if so 
find him, and you will confer a favor by doing 
him any little kindness in your power. Good- 
by, my dear boy. God bless you. I would like 
to see you, but I am glad you are not at the 
front at present, for we have hard work keep- 
ing the Yankees back. 

Your loving uncle, 

Charles Fisher. 

Well, well, that beats all I ever heard,’’ 
exclaimed Dinny, when he had finished read- 
ing the letter. 

‘‘ I don’t believe he took the trouble to find 
me,” said Charley. 


An Old Acquaintance. 87 

No, indeed, he didn't ; he could have found 
you easy enough had he tried. Every man's 
name and regiment are on the books. I have 
the list of my squad in my pocket now. He's 
gone now, poor fellow, and there's no need of 
saying any more about it. What are the 
other papers? " 

One paper was a mass of figures of which 
we could make nothing, and the others were 
letters of no interest to us, so I just put them 
back in their places, but I kept the pass ready 
for immediate use. 

'' Now, Andy," said Dinny, ‘‘ mount your 
steed, and remember I am Sergeant Brown." 

Again we commenced our journey through 
the gap, and got through without meeting any 
one. The snow was falling fast, and our 
progress was necessarily slow. Charley 
mounted behind me, the Sergeant went a few 
paces ahead, and in this manner we traveled 
for some hours. To rest the horse we dis- 
mounted and walked, but the pain in my side 
soon compelled me to give it up, and remount 
my horse. I rode on in silence for a long 
time, Charley keeping close by my side, when I 
saw the Sergeant coming back. I stopped. 


88 


The Prisoners of War. 


and Dinny coming up, whispered : We are 
getting near a rebel camp. I saw lights a little 
below. I calculate it must be about 3 o'clock, 
and if we make haste we may get through be- 
fore daylight. You must ride boldly forward, 
and if you are challenged show your pass, and 
try and get the countersign if possible. If you 
can get that, the rest is easy. Keep cool and 
steady. Remember you have a revolver, but 
rather use your sword. Now go ahead.'^ 


Free at Last. 


89 


CHAPTER X. 

FREE AT LAST. 

With a beating heart, and an uneasy ner- 
vous feeling almost amounting to fear, I as- 
sumed the position of leader thus suddenly 
thrust upon me. Hitherto the Sergeant had 
been the unquestioned captain of the party, and 
we had followed him with all confidence, for I 
never doubted but that we should sooner or 
later get free by Dinny’s ingenuity. But now 
that we were entering the lion's den, circum- 
stances so ordered it that I should be the 
leader, and it was the feeling of responsibility 
that made me for the time being almost a 
coward. I rode along, keeping a sharp look- 
out on all sides, and forming plans for my 
guidance, I was startled by a tall figure sud- 
denly stepping in front of me. My horse shied 
and nearly threw me, but by a strong effort I 
recovered my balance, and drew up. 

‘‘Who goes there?" 


90 


The Prisoners of War. 


‘‘ A friend/' I answered. 

Advance, friend, and give the counter- 
sign." 

I boldly advanced, feeling in my pocket for 
the pass. 

The countersign," said the sentinel, level- 
ing his musket. 

‘‘ I have no countersign, I have a pass," I 
said, presenting it to the reb. 

Sergeant of the guard," he shouted, and in 
a few seconds that officer came up. 

Here's an officer that ain't got no counter- 
sign, but has a pass. Here it is." 

The sergeant took it and retired a little dis- 
tance to where a fire was burning. 

‘‘ That's all right," he said, giving me back 
the pass. ‘‘ I'd know the General’s pot-hooks 
among a thousand." 

I was congratulating myself upon my good 
luck when Dinny whispered, ‘‘ The counter- 
sign." 

Where is the General's headquarters? " I 
asked as calmly as I could, though my teeth 
were chattering with nervousness. 

A little distance to the left when you enter 
the town,'^ he said. 


Free at Last. 


91 


'' And the countersign ? It is General Lee, 
isn't it? " 

'' No, it ain’t General Lee, nor Stonewall 
Jackson neither. The General may give you 
the countersign if he likes, but I dursn’t.” 

‘‘ Good night,” I said, and rode on. 

Again we were challenged, and allowed to 
pass, and we entered the town. We turned to 
the right hand, the direction opposite to the 
commanding officer’s headciuarters. Soldiers 
passed and repassed, but took no notice of us. 
Dinny stopped one and asked what regiment he 
belonged to. 

Forty-seventh Georgia,” said the man; 
we only came yesterday.” 

I thought so,” said Dinny, ‘‘ I ain’t seen 
you before.” 

We had not got far when a mounted officer 
came riding up, shouting, Hallo, Pinckney ! ” 

I took no notice, but felt for my revolver, 
for I did not know how I was going to get out 
of this scrape. 

‘‘Why, what’s the matter, Pinckney?” he 
said. “ Is that the manner you treat your 
friends ? ” 

“ You are mistaken, sir,” I said, “ I am not 
Pinckney.” 


92 


The Prisoners of War. 


“ The deuce, neither you are; but that’s his 
horse. I am sure of that.” 

No, my friend; it was his horse, but it is 
mine now.” 

Why, I was told just now that Pinckney 
had returned.” 

‘‘ So he has,” I answered readily. He has 
gone to the General’s headquarters.” 

“ The devil he has. And who are you, may 
I ask?” 

‘‘ Lieutenant Smith, Forty-seventh Georgia 
Regiment, at your service. You are Captain 
Roberts, I believe.” I said this at a venture, 
the name of Pinckney’s friend coming into my 
mind. 

‘‘ Yes, I am,” he said, ‘‘ and I am glad to 
make the acquaintance of any friend of Pinck- 
ney’s. I have just come off guard, and I would 
like to see him before I turn in, for I expect we 
shall have some hot work to-morrow.” 

“ What ! is the enemy so near as that ? ” I 
exclaimed. 

‘‘Yes, indeed; the Yankee lines are not a 
mile from ours. But I must be going. Good 
night.” 

All this time I had been scheming how to 


Free at Last. 


93 


get the countersign without raising suspicion. 
As I grasped his hand an inspiration came to 
me, and in a tone of annoyance I exclaimed : 
‘‘ Oh, dear, I have forgotten the countersign. 
I will have to go back to headquarters, and 
perhaps be reprimanded by the General.'' 

‘‘Reprimanded," echoed Roberts; “I see 
you don't know ‘ Old Gunpowder.' He'll put 
you under arrest, and probably have you 
court-martialed. I suppose my coming upon 
you so suddenly has made you forget the coun- 
tersign, so I will help you out of your scrape," 
and leaning over he whispered ''Tennessee '' 

“ So it is." I exclaimed, “ how stupid of me 
to forget; but I won't forget your kindness, 
Captain Roberts. Good night." 

I was nearly beside myself with joy at thus 
getting possession of the talisman that was to 
set us free. Had it been daylight, the rebel 
must have observed my nervousness, but he 
had not the faintest suspicion I was anything 
else than what I represented myself to be, and 
he fell into the trap without the slightest idea 
of his own indiscretion. 

I called Dinny and whispered the counter- 
sign. 


94 


The Prisoners of War. 


‘‘ Good, my boy. Now make haste, and let 
ns get out of this cursed town.’’ 

As we came to the outskirts of the town 
Dinny again came up to me, and whispered. 

Keep to the left.” 

I obeyed without hesitating, for I was sure 
that the keen-sighted Sergeant had some good 
reason for it, but before I had ridden a hundred 
yards I was challenged. The magic word 
passed us, and we were now outside the lines, 
and had only to pass the videttes. At Dinny’s • 
order we quickened our pace, and we had gone 
perhaps a quarter of a mile when I was again 
stopped by a sentinel, with the now familiar 
question. ‘‘Who goes there?’’ 

“ A friend,” I answered confidently. 

“ Advance, friend, and give the counter- 
sign.” 

I rode up and whispered, “ Tennessee.” 

The soldier saluted, and bidding him good 
night, I was passing through, when he 
caught my horse by the bridle, saying, “ Wait 
till I call the officer of the guard.” 

“ Can’t you read,” I said, pulling out my 
pass. 

“ That may be all right,” he said, “ but I 


Free at Last. 95 

wish you would wait till I call the officer of the 
guard/' 

My good fellow," I said in desperation, 
‘‘ you don't know the harm you are doing keep- 
ing me here. I have a message to the Yankee 
commander and I must lose no time about it." 

‘‘ Well, I suppose it is all right," he said, 
letting go the bridle, but such a thing never 
happened to me before." 

We went at an easy pace till we lost sight of 
the sentinel. Now," said Dinny, take 
Charley up behind you, and make for that light 
to the left." 

We were not a moment too soon, for we 
heard a commotion in the rebel camp, so I put 
the horse to its utmost speed, and rode directly 
toward the light that showed where the Union 
troops were in camp, Dinny keeping up with 
us without any apparent difficulty. Shots were 
fired and I heard the sound of horses behind 
us. Suddenly Dinny stopped, and looking 
behind, I saw him raise his musket and fire. 
A few seconds more and Dinny passed us like 
a shot. He had thrown down his gun and 
accoutrements and he bounded ahead of us 
like a deer. The firing had alarmed the Union 


96 


The Prisoners of War. 


sentinels, and we had not gone far when we 
heard the challenge of the sentinel, ‘‘ Who goes 
there? 

“Friends,” cried Dinny; “escaped pris- 
oners.” 

“ Advance, friends,” and in another moment 
we were inside our own lines. 


Home Again. 


97 


CHAPTER XL 

HOME AGAIN. 

We were taken to the guard tent and re- 
ported to the officer of the guard. 

‘‘Escaped prisoners, eh?’’ he said, with a 
rather incredulous look, “ I should rather have 
taken you for deserters, judging from your 
uniforms. No matter, you can rest yourselves 
here till morning, and then I’ll send you to 
headquarters. Don’t attempt to leave the 
tent,” he added by way of caution as he went 
out. Shortly after daylight a soldier brought 
us coffee and crackers ; a few minutes later we 
were marched to the General’s quarters. The 
old General, seeing me in officer’s uniform, ad- 
dressed himself to me. I told who we were, 
when captured, and how we had made our es- 
cape, giving the Sergeant the credit to which he 
was justly entitled. At the close of my narra- 
tive the General shook us warmly by the hand, 
7 


98 


The Prisoners of War. 


and turning to Dinny, he said : Sergeant Ma- 
hony, you are a hero. You deserve a com- 
mission, and if I have any influence at the War 
Office you shall have it. You say some of your 
ribs are broken,’' he added, turning to me. 
‘‘ That must be attended to. Til send the 
doctor at once. You will have to stay a few 
days in camp till you get transportation. If 
you want anything just apply to me.” 

I thanked the kind-hearted officer, and said 
all we wanted was writing material to write to 
our friends. 

We were now dismissed and furnished with 
new uniforms. The doctor examined me and 
put a proper bandage on me, giving me as- 
surance that I should soon be as well as ever. 
Charley wrote home, giving an account of our 
adventures, and I sent by express the rebel 
uniform I had become possessed of in so novel 
a manner. We had been but two days in camp 
when we were ordered to depart. We reached 
Washington after a good deal of delay, and 
about three weeks after our escape we got back 
to our regiment. Sergeant Dinny reported our 
arrival to the officer of the day and we were 
taken to the Colonel. I was comparatively a 


Home Again. 99 

stranger to him, but Dinny had been his com- 
panion in arms for three years. 

‘‘ Lieutenant Mahony,’' he said, shaking him 
warmly by the hand, I congratulate you on 
your escape and also youi^ promotion. Your 
commission arrived a week ago, and I am very 
glad of it, for I am greatly in need of 
good officers. We will meet you at mess and 
hear your adventures.’’ 

While Lieutenant Mahony was telling his 
story to the officers, Charley and I gave our 
^version of it to a far more enthusiastic if less 
select audience. Many an exclamation of 
wonder and delight escaped our comrades, and 
when we came to the part of our narrative 
where Dinny pretended he was a rebel who 
had captured an escaped prisoner, the ap- 
plause was terrific. Exclamations of I 
knowed it; Sergeant Dinny is just the boy that 
could do it,” were heard on all sides, and when 
we finished our story Dinny’s popularity had 
increased a hundred per cent. 

It was now our turn to ask. questions. 

Where was Smith? and Brown? and Jones?” 

“ Killed, wounded, missing.” 


Lof C. 


TOO 


The Prisoners of War. 


‘‘ And poor Humbugger ? asked Charley. 

Was he captured that day? '' 

No indeed/’ they answered. ‘‘ He looked 
too like a dead man for the rebs to trouble 
themselves about him, and he was found an 
hour afterward. He is now in the hospital.” 

A few days after we got back to the regi- 
ment, we received two months’ pay and a fur- 
lough for thirty days. Lieutenant Mahony had 
no relatives and he preferred to stay with the 
regiment, so we went home by ourselves. The 
meeting between Mrs. Fisher and her son can 
be better imagined than described. Charley 
visited his old master. Judge Howard, and 
got an invitation to visit Mrs. Howard, the 
very thing the rogue wanted. I may as well 
state here that it was a lover’s quarrel between 
Effie and Charley that led him to enlist in such 
haste. I did not know this till now. 

Altogether this was the happiest month 
of my life, and it was with regret that we left 
Edgetown to face new dangers. 

We reached our regiment on the 29th of 
March. The whole corps had been fighting all 
day, and our brigade had done its share. The 
poor fellows were tired out and glad to rest. 


Home Again. 


lOI 


Our old friend Dinny, now Captain Mahony, 
received us with his old-time kindness and in- 
vited us to his tent to give him the news. 

'' I am very glad to see you again/' he said, 
and yet I feel sorry, too. The rebs know it 
is all up with them and they fight like devils. 
I never saw such fighting as there has been 
these last three days. We are actually worn 
out with fatigue. To-morrow we'll be at it 
again, and I hope you will keep by me. It 
can't last much longer, and we will all go home 
together." 

W e sat and talked till roll-call, then bade our 
friend good night. 


102 


The Prisoners of War. 


CHAPTER XIL 

THE LAST BATTLE. 

We were aroused at daybreak, and after a 
hasty breakfast the regiment marched to the 
front, where the fighting had already begun. 
It was really the first battle Charley and I had 
been in, and the whistling of the shot and shell 
bewildered me. I loaded and fired at ran- 
dom, as I saw my comrades doing, and as the 
first nervous feeling wore off, I began to look 
about me with some composure. A rebel bat- 
tery on a hill to the left, which at the com- 
mencement of the battle had been firing in an- 
other direction, now turned on us, and a rebel 
brigade poured a galling fire right into our 
midst. All at once I saw the rebs charge down 
the hill, and I knew the shock must soon come. 

Steady, my boys, steady,” cried Captain 
Dinny, seeing his company beginning to 
waver. Give them a warm reception and 
fire low.” 


The Last Battle. 


103 


The Confederates were led by an officer on 
horseback, and seeing Dinny at the head of 
the company he rushed at him. I saw no more 
of either of them, for just then the two col- 
umns came in collision. I fought and thrust, 
and thought of nothing but defending myself. 
I heard a shout of victory and I knew it came 
from the Union side. The rebs had been 
beaten back and we were already pursuing 
them. Again I saw the mounted officer try- 
ing to encourage his men to another effort. 
Captain Mahony was in advance of his com- 
pany, cheering us on. The rebel officer at 
last succeeded in rallying his men, and they 
stood the shock bravely, and again there was a 
hand-to-hand encounter. Just then I saw the 
Confederate officer reel in his saddle, and with- 
out a moment's thought as to whether he was 
friend or foe, I rushed forward and caught him 
as he fell. He had been shot in the breast, and 
as I caught him the hot blood spouted all over 
me. I laid him on the ground and put ray can- 
teen to his lips. He opened his eyes, and see- 
ing me he said faintly, ‘‘ I thank you, my good 
fellow. I suppose I am your prisoner." 

Before I could give an answer to this unex- 


104 The Prisoners of War. 

pected question, I felt a stinging pain in my el- 
bow, and a feeling as if my arm was being 
seared with red-hot iron. A dizzy sensation 
came over my brain, and I sank on the ground 
beside the wounded rebel. 

I recovered in a few seconds and rose up. 
My left arm hung lifeless at my side, the blood 
streaming down my sleeve. The field was now 
deserted save by the killed and wounded, and 
the ambulances were coming for their loads of 
sufferers. The wounded officer was looking at 
me pitifully. I told him I would send him 
assistance if I could, and left to get my wound 
dressed. The place used as an hospital was a 
small two-story frame building at the junction 
of two roads. There I found the regimental 
surgeon and his assistants hard at work. 
He cut my sleeve and felt the arm, then told 
me he would have to amputate it below the 
elbow. 

“ Oh, doctor,’’ I cried, can’t you save it? ” 

“ No, my good man, I can’t. The bone is 
shattered all to pieces.” 

I need not sicken the reader with details. 
Suffice it to say that in half an hour I was 
minus my left arm. The pain I endured was 
intense. I lay in a corner of the room, but 


The Last Battle. 


105 


sleep was out of the question. The groans and 
cries of the wounded were heard on every side, 
and after rolling and tossing on my bed I rose 
and paced the room, trying to forget my pain. 
It was now evening, and the sounds of battle 
had ceased. I went down-stairs to hear the 
news and perchance meet some wounded com- 
rade. Looking around, I saw the wounded 
rebel gazing earnestly toward me, and making 
signs. At that moment Charley came in look- 
ing anxious and excited. Seeing me he ran 
forward, and taking my hand he burst into 
tears. 

'‘What's the matter, Charley? Are you 
wounded ? " 

" No, no, but poor Dinny is killed." 

" Oh God, is that so ? " 

" Too true; the rebel colonel cut him down." 

" What, him ? " I asked, pointing toward the 
cot of the wounded officer who was looking 
earnestly at us. 

" That's the man," said Charley, recoiling. 

The officer again made a sign to come for- 
ward. I felt a loathing, yet I could not re- 
sist the mute entreaty. 

"Who is that youth?" he asked. "What 
is his name? " 


io6 The Prisoners of War. 

“ Charles Fisher, sir, private 95th New 
York Volunteers/’ 

Please bring him here; I want to see him/’ 
Charley came over reluctantly. The officer 
held out his hand, but Charley refused it, say- 
ing, ‘‘ I can’t take the hand of the man that 
slew my best friend.” 

A look of pain and mortified pride passed 
over the face of the wounded man as he said, 
Charles, I am your father’s brother.” 

What ! ” cried Charley, falling on his 
knees at the side of the cot, and unconsciously 
taking the hand he had but a moment before 
refused. My uncle, can it be? ” 

‘‘ Yes, if your father’s name is James Madi- 
son Fisher of Edgetown, N. Y.” 

It is, it is,” said Charley. ‘‘ Oh, my 
uncle.” 

Now listen to me attentively. I am 
wounded fatally, I cannot recover. I have no 
time to lose, and I want to do justice to my 
only brother.” 

My father is dead,” said Charley mourn- 
fully; 'Mie died in i860.” 

Then I shall soon meet him,” said the 
officer, musingly. Please get writing ma- 
terials,” he added, turning to Charley. 


The Last Battle. 


107 


While Charley was gone, Colonel Fisher 
asked me if Charley had not been taken pris- 
oner. I told him we had both been captured at 
the same time, but made our escape. 

Ah, that is the reason poor Charley did not 
find him,’' he muttered to himself. 

‘‘ You mean Lieutenant Pinckney,” I said. 

H J >> 

‘‘ What do you know of Lieutenant Pinck- 
ney?” he said, interrupting me. Do you 
know who murdered him?” 

He was not murdered, he was killed in a 
fair fight. If it is any satisfaction to you to 
know,” I continued in a whisper, you killed 
the man that killed Pinckney.” In a few v/ords 
I told him of our escape, of our meeting with 
Pinckney, and the fatal result, at the same time 
] showed how Pinckney could easily have found 
Charley had he desired. 

Before I got through with my narrative, to 
which the colonel paid the closest attention, 
Charley returned, bringing paper, pen and ink, 
and accompanied by the regimental surgeon. 
The doctor felt the wounded man’s pulse, and 
shook his head. 

I know I am dying,” said Colonel Fisher. 
‘‘ Will you please to write to my dictation.” 


io8 The Prisoners of War. 

The doctor with a sign of assent sat down 
by the bedside, and wrote the dying man’s last 
will and testament. The will began by can- 
celing all previous wills, and bequeathed all his 
real and personal property to his nephew 
Charles Fisher, of Edgetown^ New York, ex- 
cepting $10,000 to Maria Fisher, widow of 
James Madison Fisher, and the same amount 
to James and Ellen Fisher, his nephew and 
niece, and $10,000 to Andrew Murray. 

Add, said the Colonel, '' for his Christian 
kindness to a wounded enemy.” 

The paper was then read to the Colonel, and 
signed by him. The doctor and one of the 
hospital servants affixed their names as wit- 
nesses, and then Colonel Fisher requested the 
doctor to keep the will till such time as was 
convenient to carry it into execution. 

‘‘ You have lost an arm while assisting me,” 
said Colonel Fisher, ‘‘ and it is the least I can 
do to provide for you ; my nephew won’t miss 
it. I feel I am dying; please fetch a clergy- 
man.” 

Charley hurried away in search of the chap- 
lain, and the dying officer lay back on his pil- 
low with his eyes shut and his lips moving as 


The Last Battle. 


109 


if in prayer. I sat still and watched him at- 
tentively. Suddenly he opened his eyes and 
asked for Charley. I told him he had gone 
for a chaplain. 

Come here. I have forgotten something/' 
he said. 

Here's Charley coming with the chap- 
lain," I said. 

The clergyman took the dying man's hand. 
He opened his eyes and smiled. We all knelt 
around the cot while the clergyman prayed for 
the soul about to leave its mortal tenement. 
The dying colonel lay perfectly still, holding 
Charley's hand in his. When the chaplain 
concluded, we rose, but Colonel Fisher still 
held on to Charley. He muttered some words, 
of which all I could catch were boat-house and 
pine tree. 

His mind is wandering," whispered Char- 
ley. 

The dying man heard the whisper, and 
made another effort to speak. He began. 

Ninety-six — " when he was interrupted by 
a fit of coughing ; he sat bolt upright in bed, a 
gush of blood burst from his mouth, a shiver 
passed over him and he fell back dead. 


no 


The Prisoners of War. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A VISIT TO THE SOUTH. 

The last battle had been fought, the war 
was over, and the Southern Confederacy 
a thing of the past. It was the month of 
June, and my wound was nearly healed. The 
doctor had saved my elbow joint, and I did 
not miss my arm as much as I expected I 
would. 

Charley had got home with a whole skin 
and an honorable discharge, and he employed 
his old master. Judge Howard, to attend to 
his inheritance. Amongst Colonel Fisher’s 
papers were some letters from a lawyer in Wil- 
mington, N. C. About six weeks after Char- 
ley’s return, the business had been settled so 
far that his presence in Wilmington was neces- 
sary to the completion of the business. Mr. 
Howard gave us letters of introduction to Mr. 
Finch, the Wilmington lawyer, and next day 
we left Edgetown for the South. Arriving in 


A Visit to the South. 


Ill 


Wilmington, we took rooms at a hotel, and 
after refreshing ourselves we drove to Mr. 
Finch’s office. The lawyer received us cor- 
dially, and he looked curiously at Charley as 
he shook hands, and bade him welcome to 
Wilmington. He was an elderly man whose 
age it would be difficult to guess, for though he 
was very gray, and much bent, his eyes were 
keen and bright and he walked with the steadi- 
ness of a soldier. 

‘‘ You are remarkably like your uncle when I 
knew him first some twenty-five years ago,” 
he said to Charley, when we were seated in his 
private office. 

Have you really known him so long,” asked 
Charley earnestly. ‘‘ I wish I had known him 
sooner, for I often heard father speak of him 
and wonder what had become of him.” 

‘‘ It is too long a story to tell just now; we 
have too much business to transact at present, 
but you shall hear it soon. I have been ex- 
pecting you,” he continued, and I have 
everything prepared. Here are Mr. Fisher’s 
papers,” producing a japanned box and laying 
it on the table. I have examined all except- 
ing one sealed package.” 


1 12 


The Prisoners of War. 


“ These/’ continued the lawyer, ‘‘ are not 
worth much now, though they cost Mr. Fisher 
$30,000,” and he handed Charley a bundle of 
Confederate States bonds. ‘‘ Here is a will dated 
September 14, 1862, in favor of Charles F. 
Pinckney. This,” he continued, taking up an 
envelope heavily sealed, is the package I re- 
ferred to as not having looked at. See how pe- 
culiarly it is directed, ‘ To my heir.’ It was 
evidently intended for Mr. Pinckney, but it is 
equally applicable to you. Shall I open it ? ” 
Certainly,” said Charley, ‘‘ I am curious to 
know what it is.” 

The lawyer broke the seals and took out a 
small piece of paper. He looked at it, shook 
his head, and handed it to Charley. 

“’What’s this?” said Charley, looking at 
Mr. Finch. “ Really I cannot tell what it 
means.” 

“ Can you make anything of it, Andy,” 
said Charley, after turning the paper all pos- 
sible ways, “ I am sure I can’t.” 

I took the paper, looked at it for an instant, 
than laying it on the table, I pulled my pock- 
etbook (the one I had found in Lieutenant 
Pinckney’s coat) out, and taking from it the 


A Visit to the South. 113 

piece oi^ paper covered with figures, I said, 
“ Here is a fac-simile of it.’’ 

Mr. Finch took both papers and examined 
them closely, figure by figure. 

“ Both of these papers were written by Mr. 
Fisher, I am certain of that. Indeed, they 
were written at the same time and on the same 
sheet. See, the edges where they were torn 
apart fit exactly,” and the lawyer laid the two 
pieces together. It is evidently a cipher; per- 
haps the key may be found among the other 
papers.” 

One by one the papers were examined, but 
nothing that could give any clue to the cipher 
was found. 

'' My opinion is that the paper is a cipher 
relating to some movable property that Mr. 
Fisher secreted just before he left Wilming- 
ton,” said the lawyer after a long pause. 

The plate and jewelry and other valuables 
were removed from the Pines, as his estate is 
called, but I do not know where they were 
taken. I have asked the servants, but they 
know nothing about it, and so far I have been 
unable to find them. Perhaps when we go to 

the house we may find some clue.” 

8 


1 14 The Prisoners of War. 

The lawyer now rose, and opening a drawer 
he took out some papers and spread them on the 
table. ‘‘ These,’’ he said, are receipts for 
$1,750. Mr. Fisher left $4,000 in gold in my 
hands when he went to the front, and he drew 
on me as he required. The balance is now in 
bank subject to my order, and as soon as con- 
venient I shall turn it over to you, as the heir 
of Mr. Fisher. I believe these are all the 
papers.” 

While the lawyer and Charley were exam- 
ining all these accounts, I took the papers I had 
found in Lieutenant Pinckney’s pocketbook^ 
and when Mr. Finch had got through 1 
handed him a letter. 

That letter seems to allude to some se- 
cret,” I said, perhaps it may afford some 
clue to the mystery.” 

The lawyer took the letter, read and re- 
read it slowly and carefully. Captain Rob- 
erts, eh? I know a Captain Roberts, and if 
he knows anything about this cipher I think I 
can get it out of him. This Roberts has been 
here a good many times inquiring about the dis- 
position of Mr. Fisher’s estate. He intro- 
duced himself as the captain of young Pinck- 


A Visit to the South. 115 

ney’s company, and a particular friend of that 
gentleman. He would like to lease the Pines, 
he said, and asked permission to take a look 
at the place, which, of course, I granted. I 
was over there last Monday to get things put to 
rights for you and I saw Captain Roberts in the 
forest. He was looking on the ground as if he 
had lost something, but when he saw me he 
hurried to meet me, saying he was taking ad- 
vantage of my permission to examine the 
place. It looks as if he had some object in 
view, and if he has Til get it out of him. 
Now, gentlemen, if you will do me the honor 
to dine with me to-day, I shall give yoti the 
whole history of Colonel Fisher so far as I 
know it. Here is my card and the hour is 5 
o’clock.’’ 

We then shook hands and parted. 


ii6 


The Prisoners of War. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE lawyer's story. 

Now that we are alone," said Mr. Finch, 
when the tablecloth was removed and the 
servant had gone, Pll tell you all I know of 
your uncle. But first fill your glass to drink 
to his memory. It was, I think, in 1840, I 
first knew Mr. Fisher. He was confidential 
clerk in the house of Burleigh & Co., at that 
time the largest cotton merchants in Wilming- 
ton. Mr. Burleigh, the head of the firm, was 
a gentleman of about fifty years of age. He 
lived at the Pines with his daughter, a young 
lady of about twenty years of age. He was 
a widower with three children, the eldest of 
whom, John C. Burleigh, was at Oxford Uni- 
versity, for the old gentleman was of English 
extraction, and looked with contempt on Amer- 
ican Universities. His other daughter was 
married to a New Orleans merchant, so he 
lived in the great house all alone with his 


The Lawyer’s Story. 117 

youngest child. Louisa was a beautiful girl 
and the favorite of the old gentleman. She 
had refused moie than one offer of marriage, 
which rather surprised the father, as they were 
all unexceptionable in a money point of view. 
He, however, attributed it to her desire to re- 
main at home, and he loved her still more for 
her devotion to him. He was soon unde- 
ceived. Mr. John, after his return from 
Europe, contracted a strong friendship for Mr. 
Fisher, the head clerk. The young men were 
both about the same age, and though Mr. Bur- 
leigh had had the advantage of a University 
education, Mr. Fisher’s native taste and quick- 
ness made him almost his equal. He was a 
frequent visitor at the Pines, and the natural 
consequence was he fell in love with Louisa. 
She reciprocated his affection and they met 
.clandestinely. 

At last it was discovered, and poor Charles, 
as he was called, was discharged from his sit- 
uation and told never to show his face again. 
Just about a week after, Louisa disappeared, 
but in a few days Mr. Burleigh received a 
letter from her saying that she had married 
Charles Fisher and asking for her father’s for- 


ii8 The Prisoners of War. 

giveness. Mr. Burleigh burned the letter and 
never answered it. John Burleigh liked Mr. 
Fisher, and though his aristocratic ideas were 
averse to his sister's marrying his father's 
clerk, yet he tried to get his father to overlook 
the mesalliance, and forgive them, but Mr. 
Burleigh was stubborn and refused to yield. 
I was his law agent, so he came to me to alter 
his will, leaving out Louisa's name and trans- 
ferring her portion to her brother. 

'' Miss Burleigh had $10,000 coming to her 
from the mother. That was now due, as it 
was to be given to her on her marriage, and 
Mr. Burleigh directed me to send her the 
money. ‘ It will give them a start in life,’ 
he said, ' though it is more than the scoundrel 
deserves.' 

That was the only time I ever heard Mr. 
Burleigh mention their names. When the 
General Taylor was burned on the Missis- 
sippi some ten years ago, Mr. Burleigh and his 
son John were passengers and were among 
the lost. John had been married a few years, 
but had no children. At the time of his sad 
fate his wife was visiting her friends in the 
North. She was sole heiress of the Pines, 


The Lawyer’s Story. 119 

but she never came South again, and I was 
empowered to sell the estate at private sale, 
or failing, at auction. I advertised it exten^ 
sively in the principal papers of the South, and 
among the answers I got was one from New 
Orleans written in a lady’s hand and signed 
Louisa Fisher, requesting me to give the 
writer the first refusal of it. Her husband 
was on his way from Europe, and would com-- 
municate with me immediately upon his ar- 
rival. A week or two after I got this letter, 
a gentleman called at my office and sent in his 
card. It was your uncle. He had just re- 
turned from Europe and had come to purchase 
the estate. He paid the price asked, $175,000, 
stipulating that his sister-in-law should not 
be made aware of who the purchaser was. 

Mr. Fisher brought his wife to the home 
of her childhood and there they lived for some 
years. He was a cotton broker in New Or- 
leans, but shortly after coming to the Pines 
he dissolved a direct connection with the firm, 
though still retaining an interest in it. 

‘‘ I told you that Mrs. Fisher’s elder sister was 
married to a New Orleans merchant. To that 
city Mr. Fisher took his wife, and with the 


120 


The Prisoners of War. 


$10,000 she brought him he commenced busi- 
ness. He was shrewd and enterprising and 
in a few years he stood at the head of the cot- 
ton business in that city of cotton. Mrs. 
Pinckney had received her sister kindly, and 
the two families lived in harmony. Mr. 
Fisher soon made a name in mercantile circles, 
and his brother-in-law was the first to ac- 
knowledge it. 

‘‘ When the war broke out, your uncle, who 
was tired of an idle life, wanted to join the 
army, but his wife dissuaded him from it, and 
he contented himself by equipping a company 
and loaning a large sum to the government, 
taking in exchange their bonds. Their chil- 
dren had died in infancy, and Mrs. Fisher, 
who had been in delicate health for some 
years, died in 1862. Shortly after her death, 
Mr. Fisher applied for a commission, and was 
assigned to the regiment he had helped to 
organize. Just before he left he made a will 
leaving the bulk of his fortune to his nephew, 
Charles Fisher Pinckney, whose parents were 
dead. Mr.- Pinckey, senior, had been ruined 
during the panic of 1857, and that misfortune, 
coupled with the death of his wife a few 


The Lawyer’s Story. 


I2I 


months previous, broke his heart. Mr. Eisher 
adopted the orphan boy and was in all respects 
a father to him. At the time of Mrs. Fisher’s 
death, young Pinckney was in England. It 
was no easy matter getting home, for the 
whole coast was blockaded; however, he did 
manage to get to Wilmington, but his uncle 
had gone to the front. I believe they met in 
Richmond, and Mr. Fisher procured a com- 
mission for his nephew in a Louisiana regi- 
ment, but I never heard of him again till I 
got a letter from Colonel Fisher telling of his 
mysterious death. You know the rest.” 

We are silent for a few moments thinking 
over the strange story we had just listened to. 

Mr. Finch,” I said, you mentioned the 
boat-house to-day, the last words of Colonel 
Fisher were something about a boat-house and 
a pine tree.” 

Indeed,” said the lawyer, he was prob- 
ably thinking of something that had occurred 
there.” 

It seemed to me that he was very anxious 
that we should understand him,” I replied, 
‘‘ and he told me himself he had forgotten 
something.” 


122 


The Prisoners of War. 


Well, I tell you what I think it would be. 
The plate and jewels, as I said before, are 
missing. Mr. Fisher told me he had put them 
in a safe place, and I supposed he had placed 
them in some bank, but no receipts can be 
found amongst his papers. Now my opinion 
is that he secreted them somewhere about his 
estate, and the paper of figures are the cipher 
telling of their whereabouts. I must get an 
interview with this Captain Roberts, for I 
think he knows something about it. To-mor- 
row I will drive you over and put you in pos- 
session of your estate,’’ he continued, address- 
ing Charley. There are a few negroes on 
the place, some of them old servants of the 
Burleigh family. Of course they are free 
now, and free enough they make themselves 
with whatever they can lay their hands on. 
I would advise you to keep them, as we can 
find plenty of work for them, and they are 
dangerous enemies to make. Mr. Fisher took 
two of his own seiwants with him when he went 
to the war but they never returned. I was told 
the colonel gave them their freedom ; however, 
it doesn’t matter now.” 

‘‘ Well,” said Charley, ‘‘ I am impatient to 


The Lawyer’s Story. 123 

see the Pines, so we shall be ready to accom- 
pany you at any time to-morrow.’’ 

The lawyer then appointed ten o’clock as the 
hour to meet at his office, and shortly after 
we returned to our hotel. 


124 


The Prisoners of War. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE CIPHER. 

I COULD think of nothing but the cipher. 
‘‘What can it mean?’' I kept asking myself. 
Charley’s thoughts ran in the same direction, 
for he abruptly asked me, “ Have you any idea 
what these figures can mean ? ” 

“ I have not,” I answered, “ unless, as Mr. 
Finch thinks, it relates to some hidden treas- 
ure; but I am determined to find out if I sit up 
all night.” 

“ Well, my boy, I hope you’ll succeed. As 
for myself, I must confess the old gentleman’s 
wine has made me rather sleepy, or I would 
stay up with you.” 

“ No, no, Charley, go to bed. I can work 
best alone. I’ll require all my energies for 
the task.” 

As soon as I was alone I spread the paper 
on the table, and set myself seriously to work. 
I counted the figures and found exactly nine- 


The Cipher. 125 

ty-iiiiie. They ran as follows without stop 
or point : 

20514655202351920156169145149145202 

51992465520618151323120518547512914 

51562151208152119551192019945 

Ninety-nine/’ I muttered to myself. 

Colonel Fisher's last words were ninety-six, 
but I can see no connection between them.'’ 

I counted the figures again. There were 
twenty-four is, fifteen 2s, and only three 3s. 

There were eight 4s, twenty-one 5 s, six 6s, 
but only one 7. There were three 8s, ten 9s, 
and eight os. 

With the figures thus analyzed, I sat and 
studied. I tried English, French, and Latin, 
the extent of my linguistic ability, but I could 
make nothing of it. I was so absorbed in my 
occupation that I took no note of the time, till 
I happened to look up and saw the clock on 
the mantel indicate half-past i o'clock. I had 
been three hours and I had got no clue yet. 

‘‘ I'll try again," I said to myself, and I lit 
the cigar which I had laid down when I com- 
menced my task. I took up the paper and 


126 


The Prisoners of War. 


held it close to the light. For the first time 
I noticed that the figures 465520 came together 
in two places. I knew that the letter V occurs 
oftener in the English language than any 
other, and as there were twenty-four is, I had 
tried that for the letter e. I now tried an- 
other way. There were eight os, and they 
invariably followed a 2. Taking these figures 
for 20, what did that mean? They were the 
last figures of the six that came together twice. 
I wrote out the alphabet and underneath each 
letter I wrote a figure, beginning at i, and so 
on to 26. Taking the letters thus, I found 
the figures would read n feet. 

‘‘ Aha, I am on the track now,'' I exclaimed, 
joyously. The figures 2, o, 5, were the first 
three, and these would indicate t, e, which pre- 
faced to the others made the words, ‘‘ Ten 
feet." 

Eureka ! I have found it." The rest was 
easy enough. It was indeed the simplest kind 
of cipher and I wondered I had been so long 
at reading it. The words read, ‘‘ Ten feet 
west of pine, ninety-six feet from water edge, 
line of boat-house, east side." 

I undressed and went to bed determined to 


The Cipher. 


127 


surprise Charley in the morning. The weather 
was very hot, and the turmoil in my mind pre- 
vented me from sleeping. The words of the 
cipher were continually in my thoughts, and 
I longed for the morning that I could be able 
to verify them. But at last exhausted nature 
gave way and I slept. 


128 


The Prisoners of War. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

AN OLD FRIEND. 

“ Wake up, old fellow, wake up.” I started. 
Charley was standing at my bedside, half 
dressed. 

“ Come, Andrew, it is past 8 o’clock, and we 
must be at the office by lo.” 

“ All right,” I said, “ I’ll be ready in a few 
minutes.” 

“ Did you find out the meaning of the 
cipher ? ” he asked. 

“ I think I have, but I’ll explain it by and 
by.” 

On our way to the lawyer’s I stopped at a 
hardware store, and purchased a builder’s tape 
line and a pocket compass. 

What are you going to do with these 
things?” asked Charley. 

‘‘ ril explain everything when we get there. 
It is not worth while going over the same 
thing twice.” 


An Old Friend. 


129 


We were a few minutes before the ap- 
pointed time, and the colored servant who took 
our cards returned, saying his master would 
be at leisure very soon. 

Sam,’' cried a clerk, as the darkey was 
leaving the room ; ‘‘ Sam, is that all the man- 
ners you’ve got? Don’t you know enough to 
show the gentlemen into the ante-room?” 

’Sense me, Massa Jones, I’se only a poor 
nigger.” 

The tone of voice and the expression were 
both familiar to me. I looked curiously at the 
negro, and sure enough there stood our old 
guide and friend, Sam. 

Why, Sam, is that you?” said Charley 
and I in the same breath, clasping the bewil- 
dered darkey by each hand. 

'' Of course it is. Don’t you know us,” 
asked Charley, laughing. I really believe 
you have forgotten us.” 

What, is dat you, Massa Charley and 
Massa Andy? ” 

Indeed it is, and we are very glad to see 
you.” 

Ain’t Massa Dinny here too? ” asked Sam. 

Poor Dinny is dead, killed in battle,” said 
Charley, while a tear stood in his eye. 

9 


130 The Prisoners of War. 

‘‘ Pse sorry to hear that, very sorry,’’ Sam 
said with feeling. “ Massa Dinny was the 
most smartest white man I ever seed.” 

‘‘Are niggers as cheap as ever, Sam?” I 
asked. 

“ Niggers ain’t worth nothin’ now. They’s 
all free. I knows niggers as earns two dol- 
lars a day,” and Sam drew himself up as he 
mentioned his aristocratic acquaintance. 

“ And how did you get along with the sol- 
diers that morning after we escaped ? ” 

Sam laughed. “ Ah, didn’t they cut up 
when they found you was gone. I watched 
’em through a crack in the floor, and the way 
they tore ’round was ’mazin’. The sargent 
he holler for me, an’ I wake up in sich a hurry, 
I forget about the ladder and tumble through 
the hole. The sogers laugh to see ’dis nigger 
rub his shins.” Here Sam chuckled, but his 
face became grave again as he continued : 
“ Den some wanted to burn the cabin, and 
golly, they’d done it, too, on’y the sergeant he 
say I had’n’t no hand in the pris’ners’ ’scaping 
as I was a pris’ner myse’f. So they wouldn’t 
wait for no bre’kfas’, but askt for applejack, 
an’ den they went off sw’aring they would 


An Old Friend. 


131 

cotch you if it took a month/’ And Sam 
laughed again at the recollection. 

We were much pleased to know that the 
honest fellow had come to no harm on our 
account, and I was on the point of asking 
some more questions, when a bell rang and 
he hurried away. 

A gentleman came out of the private office, 
and Sam attended him to the door. Mr. 
Finch beckoned us to come in. He saluted 
us cordially, and apologized for keeping us 
waiting. ‘‘ That was Captain Roberts, and I 
wanted to draw him out, but he knows no 
more than we do ourselves, though he pretends 
to. He says that Colonel Fisher buried a 
large amount of treasure in the forest, and 
he wanted to strike a bargain that he get one- 
half if he recovered it. But I put him off till 
I had seen you. From his manner I am of 
opinion that he does not know the precise 
spot, but still he may be of service, though I 
shall never consent to pay him such a per- 
centage.” 

‘‘ Perhaps this will explain,” I said, laying 
the cipher and the translation on the table. 

The lawyer took the papers and read them 


132 


The Prisoners of War. 


carefully. ‘‘ Very good, indeed, and how do 
you make it read thus ? ’’ 

'' Easy enough,” I answered, ‘‘ For i read 
a and so on through the alphabet. It is the 
simplest kind of a cipher. I wonder that 
Colonel Fisher adopted it.” 

Yes, it is,” said the lawyer, ‘‘ but he wrote 
for the information of his nephew, who was 
absent at the time.” 

‘‘ I believe that is what Colonel Fisher was 
trying to explain when he died,” I said ; ‘‘ his 
last words were ninety-six.” 

I have not the least doubt about it,” said 
the lawyer. I suppose you are all ready to 
accompany me to the Pines. The carriage 
will be here soon. I sent over this morning to 
tell the housekeeper we were coming, and 
everything is prepared for you.” 

'' By the bye, Mr. Finch, where did you get 
that negro servant, Sam?” asked Charley. 

Sam,” echoed the lawyer. Do you 
know 'him? I have had him since last April. 
When the Union troops occupied the city, my 
own nigger got it into his head that he was 
free, so he quit my service without saying a 
word about it. This fellow Sam I picked up 


An Old Friend. 


133 


in the street and took him in out of charity. 
He looked like an honest boy, and they are 
very scarce articles, as you will perhaps soon 
find out.’’ 

He is an honest one, I’ll vouch for that,” 
said Charley warmly, and he’ll never want a 
friend while I live.” Charley then explained 
to the astonished lawyer how he became ac- 
quainted with Sam, and the great service he 
had done to us, and he ofYered to take him into 
his service if Mr. Finch had no objection to 
part with him. 

I have no objection if Sam wants to go 
to you. He is a plantation hand and will be 
very useful out of doors, but he is not much of 
a house servant. However, there is plenty of 
time to settle that question. The carriage is 
at the door to take us to the Pines.” 


134 


The Prisoners of War. 


CHTPTER XVII. 

THE PINES. 

The clay was very warm, but a pleasant 
breeze tempered the heat somewhat, and we 
enjoyed the ride along the beautiful road. 

‘‘ This is the Pines,” said Mr. Finch, as the 
carriage turned into a private avenue lined 
with gigantic pine trees. We soon came in 
sight of the house, a handsome building of 
Philadelphia brick. 

What a beautiful place,” said Charley 
proudly; ‘‘ it is fit for the President. 

Indeed it is,” said the lawyer; it cost old 
Mr. Burleigh a heap of money. The old fur- 
niture is still there, for Mrs. Fisher would 
allow nothing to be disturbed. She wanted 
it to look like her old childhood’s home. Poor 
lady, she died of a broken heart, because her 
father had never forgiven her.” The old law- 
yer heaved a sigh. But here we are at the 


The Pines. 


135 

door, and there is old Aunt Chloe waiting to 
receive us/’ 

The carriage stopped and we alighted. 
Eight or ten colored people were standing 
round, and an old negro woman with white 
cap and spectacles stood on the step. 

‘‘ Here is your young master. Aunt Chloe,” 
said Mr. Finch. 

The old negress came forward and Charley 
took her outstretched hand, and pressed it 
warmly. She peered curiously into Charley’s 
face, who stood the scrutiny laughingly. 
‘‘ You is very like what Massa was when he 
came here first a-courting Miss Louisa. We 
is all very glad to see you, Massa.” 

‘‘ Thank you. Aunt Chloe. I hope we’ll be 
good friends.” 

We entered the house, the old lady bustling 
about and ordering the other darkeys to their 
work. 

This room is the library,” said Mr. Finch, 
ushering us into a large apartment partially 
darkened. ‘‘ Everything here is just as Mr. 
Fisher left it. You see the Pines is just far 
enough from Wilmington to be out of the 
way, and the Federal authorities took care 


136 The Prisoners of War. 

that no pillaging should occur when the city 
fell into their hands, consequently nothing has 
been disturbed or removed/’ 

The old housekeeper now showed us 
through the house, at the same time giving us 
the history of each room. Some of the rooms 
were magnificently furnished and showed 
great taste combined with lavish outlay. 
There was a large garden in the rear of the 
house that led to a creek that flowed into the 
Cape Fear River. Beyond the stream was a 
pine forest, and a little distance to the left 
were the cabins of the negroes. After par^ 
taking of lunch, Mr. Finch proposed that we 
should now proceed to business. Some of the 
cabinets ha.d their drawers sealed. These 
were opened and their contents examined. 

‘‘ I see nothing to indicate where Mr. Fisher 
put his movables,” said the lawyer, after every 
drawer and recess in the library had been ran- 
sacked. It is now 3 o’clock, and it is time I 
was going back to town.” 

“Can’t you stay until to-morrow?” asked 
Charley. “ It feels so queer to be left alone 
in this great house with so many strange ne- 
groes around.” 


The Pines. 


137 


'' I do not know that I could do any good 
by staying. If you choose you can go back 
with me.’' 

Mr. Finch,” I said, producing the tape 
measure, I am curious to know if I have read 
the cipher right, and if you will please order 
some of the servants to get spades and picks 
we might try.” 

Well,” answered the lawyer, I am curi- 
ous about it myself. It would ease my mind 
very much if we could get a clue to this mys- 
tery, but we have no time to spare, so we will 
get down to the boat-house at once.” 

As we went out the lawyer ordered some of 
the negroes to follow us with spades and picks. 
The boat-house was a small shed built on a 
stone foundation, and extended a few feet into 
the water. It was situated on a bend of the 
stream just on the verge of the forest, and a 
rustic bridge crossed the stream immediately 
below it. The door of the house stood open, 
showing two boats inside, one of which was 
slung from the roof. 

‘‘ This is the east side, I think, and I drove 
a nail into the wood exactly at the water edge. 
On this I securely fastened the end of my tape- 


138 The Prisoners of War. 

line, and we went into the forest, letting out 
the line as we went. The trees were so nu- 
merous it was difficult work to keep in a direct 
line, but with Charley’s assistance I managed 
to get it tolerably straight. Two trees stood 
at ninety-six feet from the water, and neither 
of them were exactly in a direct line with the 
boat-house. 

‘‘ This must be the one,” I said, as I tight- 
ened the line. ‘‘ It is nearly in line; don’t you 
think so? ” 

My companions glanced along the line, 
v/hile the darkies stood by in open-mouthed 
wonder. They agreed that it was the nearest 
to a direct line, and it measured ninety-six 
feet to an inch. Producing my pocket com- 
pass, I now measured ten feet to the west of 
the tree and drove a piece of wood into the 
ground. 

“ Now we’re all ready for work,” I said, 
looking at Mr. Finch. 

‘‘ Dig,” said the lawyer, and the darkies, 
who now began to comprehend what they 
were there for, seized their tools and began to 
work with vigor. After digging about three 
feet the picks struck something hard. 


The Pines. 


139 


Shovel out the earth/’ I cried, and let us 
see what it is,” and I was almost jumping in 
to assist them. 

Charley, who was as much excited as myself, 
kept walking round the hole while the rubbish 
was being thrown out, but the old lawyer re- 
mained cool and collected, directing the negroes 
as he saw fit. The earth all out, a rock was 
seen that covered the whole of the opening. 

Dig round it,” said the lawyer, there is 
perhaps something underneath.” 

Again the negroes began their toil and plied 
pick and spade, but no edge could be found to 
the rock. The hole was now six feet in diam- 
eter, but still the rock covered it. 

‘‘ It is useless proceeding any further,” said 
the lawyer, ‘‘ that rock must weigh some tons 
and no human power ever placed it there. 
Your cipher has not been properly translated, 
Mr. Murray.” 

“ It must be right, sir,” I answered with 
vehemence, ‘‘ it can’t be wrong. I have made 
a mistake in the locality, I confess, but I am 
convinced I have read the cipher aright.” 

‘‘ Well, well,” said the lawyer, soothingly, 
we have plenty of time to work. By and by. 


140 The Prisoners of War. 

when you get better acquainted with the place, 
you may be able to find it. I must now be 
going, and I will send Sam over in the morn- 
ing with the baggage.’’ 

We went back to the house and Mr. Finch 
returned to the city. 

I can’t make it out,” said Charley when 
we were alone, ‘‘ the thing reads so straight 
and to the point.” 

‘‘ Yes, indeed,” I answered, ‘‘ I don’t be- 
lieve any man could make a better sentence out 
of it. There is not a superfluous word nor a 
word wanting. There is some mistake some- 
where, but it is not in the translation.” 

‘‘ Well, Andy, we’ll try again to-morrow, as 
Mr. Finch said, we have plenty of time.” 

We sat on the veranda, and talked over our 
plans till it began to grow dark. 


A Discovery and what it Cost. 141 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

A DISCOVERY AND WHAT IT COST. 

At Charley’s request old Aunt Chloe had 
put up two beds in one of the large rooms, for 
we felt strange in our new abode and preferred 
to be together. It was a beautiful evening, but 
very close and warm. We sat at a window 
enjoying the landscape by the light of the new 
moon. By and by Charley retired, but I did 
not feel inclined to sleep so I sat still. I felt 
so chagrined at my failure that I could think 
of nothing else. Til take a stroll down to 
the creek, before going to bed,” I said to my- 
self, so I lit a fresh cigar, and stepped softly 
on to the veranda. Treading over the graveled 
walk as lightly as possible, for fear of awak- 
ing Charley, I took the road to the stream. 
The forest looked dark and no sound could be 
heard but the occasional bark of a dog. I 
walked past the boat-house, and across the lit- 
tle rustic bridge that spanned the creek, which 


142 


The Prisoners of War. 


at this place was not more than twelve or fif- 
teen feet wide. I had taken the precaution to 
bring my revolver with me, so feeling per^ 
fectly secure, I walked a few steps into the 
dark forest and sat down at the root of a pine 
tree. 

I had been there but a few minutes, silently 
puffing my cigar, when I thought I heard foot- 
steps approaching, and listening intently for a 
few seconds, I heard voices. The persons 
seemed to be coming toward where I sat, so I 
shrank close to the tree, intending to let them 
pass without making them aware of my pres- 
ence. They stopped before they got to my 
tree, and I heard one say, ‘‘ Are you sure this 
is the place ? 

“ No, sah, I ain't, not quite sartin, for you 
know Massa blindfolded us before he brought 
us, but I 'members I saw the boat-house 
through the trees, and I think it was just about 
here.'’ 

Well, now, we must try and get it to-night 
or that d — d Yankee may find it; he is on the 
track now." 

‘‘ Yes, Massa Roberts, but they's on the 
wrong side of the creek." 


A Discovery and what it Cost. 143 

Come, come, no names. Call me Tom, or 
Dick, or anything you like, but not that name. 
We are on an equality for the time being. 
Now try and locate the place. Take a good 
look around so as to make no mistake.’’ 

‘‘Ah, Roberts, eh?” I ejaculated. “I’ll 
spoil your little game soon. We’ll see if the 
Yankee is not as sharp as the Southerner.” 
I waited till they should commence digging, 
that I might get away unobserved, but they 
walked backward and forward muttering to 
each other, of which I caught a word here and 
there. 

At length, to my dismay, they came directly 
toward me. The moon threw a fitful and un- 
certain light, but I could distinguish the two 
dark figures approaching. I had very little 
time to make up my mind what to do, but I 
pulled out my pistol, and stepping boldly forth 
from the shade of the tree, I walked briskly 
toward the bridge. 

Alas, I had not gone half a dozen steps 
when I stumbled over a log, and before I could 
regain my feet, I felt myself seized by the 
shoulder, and a hoarse voice hissed in my ear, 
“ Who are you, and what are you doing 
here?” 


144 The Prisoners of War. 

None of your business/’ I shouted, let 
me up or it will be worse for you/’ 

Stop your noise or I’ll murder you. Here, 
Jim, fetch that rope.” 

He grasped me by the throat. I struggled 
and twisted, but it was of no avail; I was in 
the grasp of a giant. Fortunately I still held 
on to the pistol, and I managed to turn my 
hand so as to cover my assailant. I cocked it 
and fired. He gave a cry of pain and I felt his 
hold relax. I sprang up, but at that instant I 
got a fearful blow from behind and I fell back 
insensible. When my senses returned, I found 
myself alone just where I had fallen. I felt a 
terrible pain in my head and an oppressive 
sense of weight on my brain. I heard shouts 
in the wood, and I could distinguish Charley’s 
voice calling my name. I tried to answer, but 
my tongue refused to articulate a word. I 
endeavored to rise, but could not raise my 
head. I felt with my hand to see if I was 
bound, but I could find nothing to prevent me 
from rising. While feeling around, I touched 
the pistol, which had fallen at my side. I 
caught it up and cocking it I fired in the air. 
Again I fainted, and I remembered nothing 


more. 


Ellen. 


145 


CHAPTER XIX. 

ELLEN. 

I WAS lying in the room I had quitted on 
that unlucky night. I had just opened my eyes 
and I saw three persons sitting at one of the 
windows in earnest conversation. 

The crisis is now past and he may be con- 
sidered out of danger/' I heard some one say. 

God be praised for all his mercies." 

I started. Was that an angel's voice? I 
looked. A female was kneeling on the carpet 
with her eyes uplifted in attitude of prayer. 

Ellen." 

She flew to the bedside. ‘‘ Dear Andrew," 
she said, and burst into tears. 

I drew her unresisting form toward me, and 
kissed her. She returned the embrace, and 
quickly recovering herself she retired blushing 
and confused. It was the first time our lips 
had met and I now knew she loved me. 

Charley now came forward, and taking me 


10 


146 The Prisoners of War. 

kindly by the hand he said : ‘‘ YouVe had a 
hard struggle, Andy, but you’ll soon be well 
again. The doctor says you are out of dan- 
ger now.” 

“ Yes, Mr. Murray/' said an elderly gentle- 
man, ‘‘ I may say you have passed through the 
worst. But he must be kept quiet for a few 
days longer,” he continued, addressing Ellen, 
who was blushing and trembling at the foot of 
the bedstead. ‘‘ No long conversations or ex- 
citement of any kind. Good-by, my dear sir,” 
and he quitted the room accompanied by Char- 
ley. 

""Dear Ellen, how did you get here?” I 
asked. She smiled as she answered, "" You 
must ask no questions, but just go to sleep, and 
ril stay by you till Charley returns.” 

From that day my recovery was rapid. 
Every day Ellen or Charley would sit for 
hours in the room, but they conversed very lit- 
tle, saying it was the doctor's orders. 

One day Charley told me I should be allowed 
to leave the bed next day, and that Mr. Finch 
was coming over to see me.’' 

"" Tell me, Charley, how long have I lain 
here ? ” 


Ellen. 


147 

Nearly five weeks. You lay between life 
and death for three weeks.'’ 

I wish you would tell me all about it, Char- 
ley," I said beseechingly, for I could not realize 
that I had been so long ill. 

I just came in for that purpose," he said. 

The doctor said I could tell you now, and 
prepare you for to-morrow." 

‘‘ To-morrow, what's to happen to-mor- 
row ? " 

Oh, nothing much. Mr. Finch is coming 
over to hear from your own lips an account of 
your accident and a description of your assail- 
ants, that steps may be taken for their arrest.” 

‘‘ Oh, that's it, is it ? I know well who it 
was, but never mind that just now. Tell me 
all that happened since, and how Ellen comes 
to be at the Pines. Did you send for her?" 

“ I did," said Charley, smiling. You 
raved so much of Ellen, that I concluded to 
send for her, and I am glad I did. The doctor 
says her nursing did you more good than his 
skill. I believe, Andy, you are in love with 
her, and I know she loves you." 

Charley," said I, come here." He came 
close up, and taking his hand, I continued : 


148 The Prisoners of War. 


You have discovered my secret. I never 
breathed a word of love to Ellen, although I 
have long loved her. When I returned from 
the war a poor maimed wretch'' — here I raised 
my mutilated arm — I determined to crush 
my passion and try to forget her, but I could 
not. You say she loves me. The knowledge 
makes me very happy, for what am I that I 
should aspire to her love? " 

Why, Andy, you are raving. I don't be- 
lieve you are in your right mind yet. You 
have lost an arm, but that does not incapaci- 
tate you from following your profession. You 
have, or at least will soon have, $10,000. Ellen 
will have the same, and the day she becomes 
your wife I shall give her a dower of $10,000 
more. Now, Andy, I must leave you, for I 
see you are excited. I'll see you again in the 
evening, and in the meantime I shall sent El- 
len to keep you company." 

In a few minutes Ellen entered the room 
wShe evidently thought I was asleep, for she 
moved softly across the floor and sat down at a 
window, and I lay watching till she should 
look lound. She did at last, and seeing my 
eager look, she came forward to ask if I wanted 
anything. 


Ellen. 


149 


My dear Ellen, I do. I want your love. 
I have long loved you, but I never had the 
courage to tell you, for I am only a poor 
maimed soldier.'’ Here I broke down, nor 
could I for worlds have uttered another word. 

Ellen threw her arm around my neck and 
sobbed on my shoulder. 

“ Dear Ellen," I cried in alarm, have I of- 
fended you ? " 

“ Oh, no, no ; it was thinking of that cruel 
wound that made me weep. Yet, dear An- 
drew, I love you better as you are, for " 

For what, dear? " I asked, seeing she hesi- 
tated. 

Because you need it more." 

She sat till twilight holding my hand in hers. 
We scarcely spoke a word, our hearts were too 
full for utterance. Charley, according to his 
promise, came in the evening and told me all 
that had happened since my accident. 

I awoke," he said, ‘‘ just in time to see 
you step on to the veranda. I called after you 
but you did not answer. I lay still awhile, but 
1 began to be uneasy about you, so I rose and 
dressed. I went out on the veranda and 
looked around, when I heard a shot fired, so I 


i5o The Prisoners of War. 

immediately aroused the servants, and hurried 
into the forest. We shouted again and again, 
but no answer came. I was very much 
alarmed, especially when I heard a second shot, 
but it led us to the place and we found you ly- 
ing, to all appearance, dead. We brought you 
into the house and I sent for a doctor. He ex- 
amined you all over, and said you had been 
struck with a heavy dull instrument on the head. 
Your head was tremendously swelled, so he 
applied himself to reduce the swelling. Your 
wounded arm was hurt and the artificial arm 
broken. The doctor’s theory was that you had 
instinctively raised your arm to protect your- 
self from the blow, and that it had saved your 
skull from being fractured. 

Next day you were in a high fever. Your 
head was shaven and everything done to keep 
the fever from the brain. You raved contin- 
ually and called on Ellen, and then you would 
mention Roberts and the treasure that was hid 
and many other things of which no one could 
make anything. Your calling so much on 
Ellen decided me to send for her, so I tele- 
graphed that you were sick and I requested 
mother to spare her for a few weeks. As the 


Ellen. 


151 

doctor said, it was as much Ellen's nursing as 
his skill that brought you through, and noth- 
ing but love could have done as much. 
Though I am her brother, I say you have a 
treasure, and I hope and believe you appreci- 
ate her value." 

‘‘ I am afraid I do not," I said. '' I am not 
worthy of her." 

Nonsense, man, you don't know what you 
are saying. To-morrow the lawyer will be 
here, so brush up your memory and let us see 
that your brain is as good as ever. Good 
night." 


152 


The Prisoners of War. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE EXAMINATION. 

Just before noon Mr. Finch arrived, accom- 
panied by another gentleman, w^hom he intro- 
duced as Hon. Alexander Dayton, a justice of 
the peace. We w^ere in the library, and when 
the party got seated, Mr. Finch, addressing me, 
said : ‘‘ Mr. Murray, this cowardly assault on 
you has created a great deal of excitement in 
the neighborhood, for the people are naturally 
indignant that a gentleman on his first visit 
to the South should have been treated so mur- 
derously. Besides, some of the Northern pa- 
pers have got hold of it, and made matters 
worse by exaggeration. I myself read in a 
New York paper that a gentleman from that 
State, on his taking possession of some prop- 
erty near Wilmington, had been attacked by 
some ex-rebels, friends of the former owner, 
and nearly killed, at the same time comment- 
ing on the spirit of hostility to Northerners still 


The Examination. 


153 


prevailing in the South. It is for the purpose 
of setting the truth before the public, and at 
the same time bringing the offenders to jus- 
tice, that this gentleman has come to take your 
account of the circumstances attending the as- 
sault. 

The doctor says that your mind is now in 
its normal condition, but if you feel you are not 
equal to that task, we will postpone your exam- 
ination.’' 

I believe I am able to answer any question 
you may ask. I have a perfect recollection of 
the whole affair.’’ 

Well, then,” said the justice, we will 
swear you, and take your evidence.” 

I took the prescribed oath and then I related 
the whole affair just as it occurred. 

So you swear your assailant’s name is 
Roberts? ” 

It is. I heard his companion call him by 
that name„ and he once told me himself that 
Roberts was his name.” 

Do you know his motive for attacking 
you?” 

I think it was because he suspected me of 
eavesdropping.” 


i54 The Prisoners of War. 

Then it was not revenge for supposed in- 
juries to himself or his friends? 

“ Oh, no, it could not be that ; for I am sure 
he did not know who I was/’ 

‘‘ Now, doctor,” said the justice, ‘‘ we will 
take your evidence.” 

My curiosity was aroused, for I could not 
understand how the doctor knew anything 
about it. The doctor’s story was to this effect. 

‘‘ A few minutes before I was called to at- 
tend Mr. Murray, a tall, black-bearded man 
came into my office to get a wound dressed. 
Pie said he had been attacked by a negro, and 
shot in the arm. It was an ugly wound and 
the ball had passed through the muscles near 
the shoulder. While examining the wound, 
my servant brought in one of the Pines ser- 
vants. The man seemed greatly excited and 
could scarcely tell his errand, but I understood 
from him that one of his new Massas had been 
found in the woods murdered. ‘ Do you know 
anything of this ? ’ I asked the man whose 
wound I had been dressing, but when I turned 
round he was gone. Neither the negro serv- 
ant nor I had seen him leave the apartment. It 
was a very warm evening and the office win- 


The Examination. 


155 


clow was open, so he had stepped out that way. 
When I came to attend Mr. Murray I exam- 
ined the pistol, and I came to the conclusion 
that at short range it would produce just such 
a wound as my mysterious patient had, and 
that, coupled with his sudden departure, de- 
cided me to repeat it to the authorities.’’ 

Well,” said the justice, your evidence 
corroborates Mr. Murray’s, so I will at once 
issue a warrant for the arrest of this Roberts 
and his negro confederate, name unknown.’’ 

When the justice and the doctor had retired, 
Mr. Finch, approaching me confidentially, 
asked what had induced me, a perfect stranger, 
to venture into the forest so late at night? ” 

‘‘ 1 can scarcely give a reasonable answer to 
that question,” I said. It was a beautiful 
moonlight night, and I just thought I would 
take a stroll before going to bed.” 

‘‘ You did not go to look for the buried 
treasure,” he said playfully. 

Well no, not exactly,” I answered hesitat- 
ingly, yet I must confess my failure to find 
it was on my mind, and I was revolving some 
method of reconciling the cipher with the sur- 
roundings. However, I did make a discovery.” 


156 The Prisoners of War. 


Rather an awkward discovery, I should 
say,'’ said the lawyer drily, ‘‘ to be set upon 
and nearly killed/’ 

‘‘ That is so, but what I refer to is this : 

“ Roberts told his companion that we were 
on the track of the treasure and the negro an- 
swered, ‘Yes, but they are on the wrong side 
of the creek.’ Now if you have time we might 
go to-day and try again.” 

“ No, no, my dear sir, not to-day. You for- 
get you are an invalid, and besides, I cannot 
spare the time. Let me see — this is Tuesday. 
In a few days you will be more able to go 
around, so if you have no objection. I’ll say 
Saturday. I’ll come over early and spend the 
day with you.” 

“ That’s all very well, Mr. Finch, but in 
the meantime these socundrels may get the 
start of us and dig it up.” 

“ No danger of that,” said the lawyer. 
“ They will give this locality a wide berth for 
some time to come. Roberts is not such a fool 
as to stay around Wilmington with a warrant 
out against him, so you may rest easy on that 
score.” 

“ Very well, sir, you know best. Let it be 
Saturday.’’ 


The Treasure. 


157 


CHAPTER XXL 

THE TREASURE. 

The weather was lovely, and I grew strong 
and well. Every day Ellen and I walked in 
the garden, or, accompanied by Charley, took 
a sail on the creek. 

Charley was in a fever of impatience to get 
at the hidden treasure, and could scarcely be 
persuaded to wait till Saturday. At last Sat- 
urday came, and true to his appointment Mr. 
Finch arrived at the Pines early in the fore- 
noon. Everything had been prepared and in 
a few minutes we were on our way to the for*- 
est. I was still on the sick list, and therefore 
debarred from taking an actual share in the 
proceedings, so Ellen and I went as spectators. 
A line was stretched across the creek parallel 
with the east side of the boat-house. There 
was no difficulty in finding the exact edge of 
the stream, for the boat-house was situated just 


158 The Prisoners of War. 

above a bend of the stream where it entered 
the forest, and the banks were built up to pre- 
vent their washing away. Charley fastened 
the tape measure to the rope and proceeded 
into the forest. 

“ I guess this is the right tree/’ he said, 
glancing along the line with a critical eye. It 
measured just exactly ninety-six feet and was 
perfectly in a line with the boat-house. 

That must be the tree, there is no other 
within twenty feet of us. Now get the com- 
pass and find the west.” 

The compass was brought out and ten feet 
measured off. 

“ Begin here* Sam,” said Charley, to our old 
friend, who, I ought to have mentioned, had 
entered our service and who was now Char- 
ley’s confidential servant. Begin here.” 
And the stalwart darkey began to dig as if his 
life depended on his efforts. 

They had dug about three feet when the pick 
struck something hard. 

. Another rock,” said Charley anxiously. 

Looks like a paving stone, Massa,” said 
Sam, clearing away the earth, and disclosing 
a large fiat stone. This the negro soon re- 


The Treasure. 


159 


moved, and right underneath we saw a pine 
box about two feet square with an iron handle 
on top.. 

Aha/’ said Charley in ecstasy, '' we have 
found it at last.” 

I glanced at the lawyer’s face to see what he 
thought of it, and the look of pleased surprise 
more than repaid me for his former incre- 
dulity. 

With little difficulty the laborers got the 
box out and carried it to the house. 

A screwdriver opened the box, and disclosed 
another box of rosewood, beautifully inlaid 
though somewhat tarnished. It was locked, 
but the key hung to a chain, rendering force 
unnecessary to open it. What a sight met our 
astonished gaze when it was opened. Gold 
coins, valuable plate, jewels, diamonds, the 
value of which none of us had the least idea. 

These diamonds,” said Mr. Finch, open- 
ing a case containing a splendid necklace and 
earrings, were Mrs. Fisher’s. I have seen her 
wear them once or twice. I believe they cost 
$10,000.” 

“ How do you like these, Elbe ? ” said Char- 
ley, handing a pair of bracelets to his sister. 


i6o The Prisoners of War. 

‘‘ What lovely jewels/’ said Ellen. '' I never 
saw anything like them before.” 

‘‘Wouldn’t you like to wear them?” he 
asked. 

“ They are too gay for me,” she said, blush- 
ing with pleasure. “ I would be afraid of los- 
ing them.” 

“ Well, I shall keep them for you in the 
meantime, but remember they are yours.” 

There were nearly $5,000 in gold coin, most 
of it being $10 and $20 pieces, with a number 
of English sovereigns and a few Spanish 
doubloons. There were also bills of exchange 
on a New York bank for $25,000, and a bank 
book showing a deposit of $15,000 in the Bank 
of England. Altogether there was property to 
the amount of $150,000. 

The lawyer took a list of the items, and when 
he had finished, he congratulated Charley on 
his good fortune, at the same time giving me 
the full credit of the discovery. 

What a splendid bargain Captain Roberts 
would have made had I agreed to his proposi- 
tion,” he said. “ Why, he would have earned 
about $75,000.” 

“ I don’t believe he knew the place, or why 


The Treasure. i6i 

should he have asked the negro to show 
it.” 

Possibly not/’ answered the lawyer, but 
with the prospect of earning such a sum he 
would have found it had he to dig the whole 
forest up.” 

Well, well, never mind,” said Charley, 
laughing. We found it without his assist- 
ance, and I am perfectly willing to pay An- 
drew any sum he may think his discovery 
worth. I feel that I am entitled to do so, con- 
sidering he nearly lost his life on account of 
it.” 

This proposition of Charley's was something 
unexpected. The thought of getting a reward 
never entered my mind. I had studied out the 
cipher merely from curiosity, and I felt piqued 
at my first failure to find the treasure not so 
much on account of the property itself as from 
a feeling of disappointment self-esteem. I an- 
swered Charley that I neither expected nor de- 
sired any reward, but he cut me short, saying : 

I know that perfectly well, but nevertheless 
you have just put me in the possession of a 
large sum which otherwise I might never have 
had, and I think it is only just that you should 


i 62 The Prisoners of War. 

share it. Mr. Finch, you are a lawyer, Fll 
leave it to you to decide if Andrew agrees to 
abide by your decision.'’ 

“ Certainly, Charley, if you wish it." 

‘‘ Well," said the old lawyer, slowly, “ Fll 
think over it and give you my opinion in a 
day or two. I am going to New York next 
week, and Fll take these bills at the same time. 
I shall make arrangements with the Bank of 
Endland's agents to get your money deposited 
there. You know there are three legacies of 
$10,000 each to be paid out of Mr. Fisher’s 
estate, and we can’t pay them till we get these 
bills cashed. I have a large amount of other 
business to transact in New York, but I have 
been so busy since the close of the war that I 
could not possibly leave Wilmington till now. 
I intend to leave next Thursday, but I shall 
see you before I go.’’ 

Charley, dear,’’ said Ella that same even- 
ing as we sat together on the veranda enjoying 
the fresh balmy air laden with the scent of a 
thousand flowers, I have been thinking I 
ought to go home. The last letter we had from 
James said that mother was ailing. If Mr. 
Einch has no objection, I should like to ac- 


The Treasure. 163 

company him to New York. It will be much 
more pleasant than traveling alone.’’ 

'' A good idea, Ellie. I’ll speak to him about 
it. I dare say he will be very glad of such a 
nice companion. Andrew and I will be home 
before Thanksgiving.” 

Next day was Sunday and Charley drove 
over to Wilmington to church. At dinner he 
told us that he had seen Mr. Finch, who was 
delighted at the prospect of traveling to New 
York with Miss Fisher. He is to be over 
on Wednesday to get the papers, so you have 
plenty of time to prepare for your journey, 
Fllie dear.” 

Mr. Finch is a dear, good old gentleman, 
and I shall try and make the journey as pleas- 
ant as I can.” 

‘‘ Andrew and I will feel lonely without 
you,” said Charley, but I know mother needs 
you much more than we do, and besides we 
shall soon be all together again. Come, let us 
take a turn in the garden.” 

Charley lit a fresh cigar and strolled off 
through the garden, Fllen and I following. It 
was a lovely evening, the twilight coming on, 
and the bright moon already shedding her soft 
light on the grateful earth. 


164 The Prisoners of War. 

“ Ellen, dear,’’ I said, pressing her arm close 
in mine, “ I am very sorry you have to leave us, 
but I know it is your duty to go, and I want 
to tell you my plans and ask your opinion about 
them. I must write to your mother and ask her 
permission to our union. I ought to have writ- 
ten sooner, but I saw no immediate necessity 
for it, so I have delayed from day to day.” 

'' Mother knows about it, Andrew. Charley 
wrote some time ago, and she is very much 
pleased with her new son, as she called you in 
her letter. I thought he had shown you the 
letter; it came last evening.” 

‘‘ Indeed, he did not, but I am happy to hear 
that Mrs. Fisher is satisfied, and I must write 
and thank her. 

“ And now for my plans. You are aware 
that Colonel Fisher left me $10,000. Well, I 
intend to invest one-half in the drug business. 
It is the only business I feel qualified for. 
Had I both arms I could do a hundred things, 
but I have resolved to ofifer myself as partner 
with your brother. Edgetown is a thrivimr 
place and I think can easily support us, but if 
James does not wish a partner I shall try some 
other place. Five thousand dollars will start 


The Treasure. 


165 


a fair business, and the balance can support us 
till it is established. Now, what do you think 
of that plan ? ’’ 

I think it is the best thing that could be de- 
vised,’’ she said without a moment’s hesitation. 
'' I am sure mother will be delighted with it, 
and I cannot see why James should object. I 
often heard him say how much he missed you 
when you went to the war. I shall have $10,000 
too, if it is required.” 

W!hat’s all this about ? ” cried Charley, 
coming back. Some plot, I suppose. I 
thought you were going to give me your com- 
pany ? ” 

‘‘ Well, Charley, sit down and I will disclose 
our plot, as you call it.” 

Now what do you think of it?” I asked 
after telling him our plans. 

Good enough, I dare say, but perhaps I can 
suggest something better. I hope to be able to 
offer you inducements to live here, but it will 
be time enough when everything is settled.” 

Next day Charley received a note from Mr. 
Finch requesting him to call at the office, and 
advising him to bring his money and valuables 
to deposit in bank. 


The Prisoners of War. 


i66 

“ I was just thinking of that myself,” he re- 
marked as he finished reading the note. I do 
not feel at ease with such an amount of valu- 
able property in the house. I have scarcely 
slept a wink these two nights thinking about it. 
Great riches bring great cares, and I am just 
beginning to find it out.’’ 

‘‘ That may be so,” I said, laughing at his 
serious manner, but I know plenty of men 
who would be glad to have the riches, and take 
the risk of the care.” 

‘‘ Oh, I don’t grumble at my good fortune. 
I was only repeating a maxim I have often 
heard, but never fully understood till now.” 

Well,” I asked, ‘‘ are you going to Wil- 
mington or not? Mr. Finch’s wagon is still 
at the door, and I suppose he is waiting for 
you.” 

Why, so it is; the letter said so,” he said, 
starting up. ‘‘ I guess T\\ take Sam with me to 
look after the box till I get it safe in the bank.” 

Dear Ellen,” I said, when we were once 
more alone, have you thought over my 
plans?” 

‘‘ Yes, dear; Charley and I had quite a long 
talk about it. He wants us to stay here, but 


The Treasure. 


167 


I told him I never could live so far away from 
mother. She is getting old and feeble and re- 
quires me near her.’’ 

‘‘ Yes indeed/’ I said. ‘‘ Charley won’t miss 
us when he brings Efifie here as his wife. I like 
the North best, although the Pines is a very 
pretty place to live in.” 

I think there’s no place like home,” said 
Ellen. ‘‘ I never was so long away from 
mother and I begin to feel homesick.” 

What do you say to a row on the river ? 
The fresh air will do you good. It will be 
the last time we shall sail together for a long 
time.” 

‘‘ I should like it very much,” she said. 
“ I’ll get my sun-bonnet and be back in a mo- 
ment,” and away she skipped humming 
'' Home, Sweet Home.” 

Charley had got back before we returned 
from our excursion, and was standing on the 
veranda watching for us. 

Come along,” he cried, the dinner bell 
rang ten minutes ago. Where have you 
been ? ” 

'' I must ask your pardon for keeping you 
waiting,” I replied. ‘‘ I coaxed Ellen to take 


i68 The Prisoners of War. 

a row on the river, and it was so nice and cool 
on the water that we were loath to leave it/' 

‘‘Humph. You might have waited till I 
got back. Pm as hot as a nigger.'’ 

Dinner over the servants left the room, and 
Charley, producing a sealed envelope, handed 
it to his sister. 

“ This is Mr. Finch's written opinion," he 
said, “ and I want you to read it. I know 
nothing of what it- contains, but I pledge my- 
self to abide by it, and so does Andrew," he 
added, looking at me. 

“ Certainly," I replied laughing. “ I have 
nothing to lose, but perhaps something to 
gain, by that transaction." 

Ellen broke the seal and read as follows: 

“ After carefully considering the subject and 
getting disinterested advice, I have come to 
the conclusion that Mr. Andrew Murray is en- 
titled to $15,000, or ten per cent, of the prop- 
erty discovered through his ingenuity.'’ 

“Fifteen thousand dollars!" I gasped, for 
the magnitude of the reward completely took 
away my breath. “ Fifteen thousand. It can- 
not be ; read it again." 

“Why can't it be?" said Charley. “Mr. 


The Treasure. 


169 


Finch is a cautious man, and he thinks so and 
so do I. I am glad of it, and as I said before, 
I would abide by the decision/’ 

We all sat silent for a few minutes, when 
Charley, leaning over the table toward me and 
speaking very seriously, said : ‘‘ Andrew, an- 

swer me one question. Would you go through 
the last two months’ experience for fifteen 
thousand dollars ? ’’ 

A shudder passed through my frame. Not 
for worlds,” I answered. 

Enough said. You have fairly earned 
your reward, and the first thing I do when I 
get the money will be to give you a check for 
that amount.” 

When we returned from seeing Mr. Finch 
and Ellen depart on their journey North, the 
house looked as if all the sunshine had gone 
out of it. It is a question whether Charley or 
I felt Ellen’s absence most, for she was his only 
sister, and dear to him as any sister possibly 
could be ; and I — well, I * felt lonely. That 
evening Sam requested an interview with 
Charley, and on being ushered into the library 
where we .were sitting smoking in silence, he 
said he had come to ask advice. 


1 70 The Prisoners of War. 

“ It’s just this, Mass’ Charley. Dat Wash, 
when 1 tole him this mornin’ to get the ker- 
ridge for Miss Ellen, he say, he don’ take or- 
ders from no low-down plantation nigger, as 
hasn’t on’y one name. Den I say my name as 
good as yourhi, an’ he say as how folkses calls 
him Wash, but his full proper name is Wash’- 
tin Burley.” 

‘‘Washington Burleigh, eh? He must be 
one of the old family’s servants. And so he 
looks down on you because you are pHin 
Sam?” 

“ Yes, sah, I ’spects he does.” 

“What was your father’s name?” 

“ ’Bijah, sah. Old mass’r alius called him 
Uncle ’Bijah.” 

“ y\nd what was your old master’s name? ” 

“ Johnson, sah, but they’s too many niggers 
of that name now. I knows three or four al- 
ready.” 

“ Samuel Johnson is a very fine name,” said 
Charley, “ and it has a smack of learning about 
it, too. Well, Sam, what do you say to Ridge? 
You came from the Blue Ridge. Let me see 
— Samuel B. Ridge — how does that strike 
you ? ” 


The Treasure. 171 

Golly, Mass' Charley, that a good name ; 
no other nigger called that, I don' b'lieve. 
Say it again, sah, so I don' forget it." 

Samuel — B. — Ridge. I will enter your 
name on the books as such, and when you join 
a church you can be baptized. I will write it 
for you," and turning to his desk Charley 
wrote the name in large, plain letters and 
handed the paper to Sam. 

Golly, dat my name ? '' cried the delighted 
darkey, gazing at it with wonder and awe. 

‘‘ Yes, Sam, that is your full name, and I 
hope you will soon be able to write it yourself. 
When I return from the North, I will give you 
lessons in reading and writing. You have the 
advantage of Wash now, for he has only two 
names, while you have three." 

Sam's face was a study while Charley was 
speaking. ‘‘ Huh ! " he said, I'se par'lyze 
dat nigger the next time he 'suit me 'bout my 
name." 

I will see Wash myself, and let him under- 
stand that you have entire charge of the stables, 
and that he must take orders from you," said 
Charley, and Sam withdrew grinning with de- 
light. This little piece of comedy helped to 


172 The Prisoners of War. 

raise our spirits, and we took a more cheerful 
view of things. The few intervening weeks 
would soon pass away, and we would be re- 
united to our loved ones. 

Mr. Finch returned to Wilmington early in 
November, having finished all the business con- 
nected with Colonel Fisher's estate. 


A Narrow Escape. 


173 


CHAPTER XXII. 

A NARROW ESCAPE. 

It was now the middle of November, and 
we were preparing for our long-looked-for 
visit to the North. Mr. Finch had returned 
from New York, having settled Colonel 
Fisher's affairs, and paid the legacies. To- 
gether with the sum which the lawyer had 
awarded me for finding the buried treasure, I 
was worth $25,000, a snug little sum for a 
young man to begin the world with. There- 
fore, it was with light hearts and well-filled 
wallets we left Wilmington for the North, and 
we reached Baltimore without accident or mis- 
hap. 

It was evening of the second day when we 
reached the Susquehanna River, and there the 
cars were run on an immense boat and ferried 
across. Charley was dozing in his seat, so I 
lit a cigar and stepped out on deck to get a 
breath of fresh air and take a look at the sur- 


174 Prisoners of War. 

roundings. It was beginning to grow dark, 
and the wind whistled fiercely on the river, 
driving the low-lying clouds before it. I was 
leaning over the side looking at the rushing 
waters, and dreaming of Ellen, when I felt my- 
self seized from behind, and a blanket thrown 
over my head. The suddenness of the attack 
quite overpowered me, and before I could re- 
cover my self-possession, I was lifted off my 
feet and pushed over the side of the vessel. 
‘‘Are they going to throw me overboard?” 
rushed through my mind. With the strength 
of despair I kicked and struggled, but I was in 
the grasp of a giant, and I felt myself slowly 
but surely pushed further over the side. With 
a mighty effort I got my hand — my solitary, 
good right hand — free, and I grasped my as- 
sailant by the hair. He struck and struggled, 
but I clung to him with the tenacity of death 
itself, and we fell together into the river. On 
coming to the surface, I was rejoiced to find 
that the blanket in which I was enveloped had 
become disengaged and my head was free. I 
looked around, but could see nothing of my 
assailant, though I saw the ferry boat nearing 
her slip. I was an excellent swimmer, and un- 


A Narrow Escape. 


175 


der ordinary circumstances I could have easily 
reached the shore, but the severe struggle had 
weakened me considerably, and the coldness of 
the water* chilled me to the heart. I felt I 
could not keep afloat long, but life was sweet 
and I endeavored to do what I could to prolong 
it. I shouted again and again, but no answer 
came. 

Have I escaped so many times,’’ I cried in 
the bitterness of my feelings, to die a. dog's 
death at last? Shall I never see friends and 
home again? Never see Ellen?” The 
thought of Ellen raised fresh hope in my 
bosom. I shall not die. Surely some one saw 
the struggle on the boat. Charley will soon 
miss me. I shall be saved. Again I raised my 
voice and shouted, ''Help, help! Oh, joy, 
they hear me, they see me.” A dark body came 
swiftly toward me, and a gruff but kindly voice 
bade me cheer up. My senses were fast leaving 
me, but I felt myself dragged from the water 
and I sank into insensibility. 


1/6 


The Prisoners of War. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 

A MYSTERY CLEARED UP. 

I HAD had a narrow escape. Charley told 
me so, the doctor said the same, and I knew it 
myself. I am certain I could not have kept 
afloat a minute longer, and had not succor ar- 
rived at the moment it did, these lines would 
never have been written. 

But who was my assailant, and what was 
his motive ? I had not a single enemy in the 
world that I knew of, yet it was evidently 
malice and not plunder that animated my 
would-be assailant. It was surely a case of 
mistaken identity.” 

These thoughts ran through my mind all 
night, and even the soothing medicine I had 
taken could not lull me into complete forgetful- 
ness. At last I fell asleep, and when I woke 
the bright sunlight was streaming in through 
the half-shaded windows, and Charley was sit- 
ting at the bedside reading the morning pa- 
pers. 


A Mystery Cleared Up. 177 

Well, Andy, old fellow, how do you feel 
this morning? All right, eh? ” 

I cannot tell yet,'' I answered. I feel 
a queer kind of buzzing in my head, as if a 
swarm of bees had built their nest inside." 

Just then some one knocked at the door and 
on Charley's answering Come in," a brisk 
little gentleman entered. 

Good morning, doctor," said Charley, 
you are early around, aren't you ? 

Well, yes. I was anxious to see my pa- 
tient and find out if he knows the person who 
assaulted him." 

I haven't the slightest idea, doctor," I an- 
swered. I think I must have been mistaken 
for some other person." 

Possibly, possibly, that might be the case ; 
but do you know any person of the name of J. 
I. Roberts ? " 

Roberts, Roberts. I knew one man of 
that name and I have good reason to remem- 
ber him. Was it he that attacked me last 
night ? " 

Really I could not be certain, but a man’s 
body was found in the river this morning, and 
from some papers found in the pockets we have 


178 The Prisoners of War. 

reason to believe his name was J. 1 . Rob- 
erts.’’ 

“ Was he a tall man with long black hair and 
beard ? ” 

‘‘Exactly; that’s a true description of the 
drowned man, and he had been in a severe 
struggle, as the marks on his face and limbs 
testified. Had he any reason to consider you 
his enemy ? ” 

“ Well, perhaps he had. I know I had good 
reason to consider him mine.” And I gave 
the doctor an account of our previous meeting 
in the forest at the Pines. 

“ Then, doubtless, it was revenge he sought, 
and your escape is little less than a miracle.” 

“ I thank God for my escape,” I answered 
reverently, “ yet I never did this man any in- 
jury. He was the assailant in every instance, 
and I merely acted in self-defense.” 

“ That is very true, my dear sir,” said the 
doctor. “ No one can blame you. It is an in- 
stance of divine retribution. Would you like 
to see the body ? ” 

“ Oh, no, no,” I answered, shuddering. “ I 
would I could forget that such a person ever 
existed,” 


A Mystery Cleared Up. 


179 


Well, well, my dear sir, don’t excite your- 
self. Your nerves are a little shaken, but you’ll 
be all right soon. If you feel able I would 
recommend you to take the noon train, which 
will enable you to reach your destination to- 
night. Once amongst your friends you will 
soon recover.” 

This advice exactly coincided with my 
wishes, and Charley was as anxious as myself 
to get home. We reached Edgetown without 
further mishap, and we both agreed to say 
nothing about my late adventure, but love’s 
e)^es are sharp. Ellen saw something ailed me, 
and I had to tell her the whole story after en- 
joining her to secrecy. 

What a wicked man ! ” she exclaimed. 

How could any one be so cruel, but his de- 
signs came to naught, and he himself fell into 
the pit he digged for another. May God have 
mercy on him.” 

Amen.” 


i8o 


The Prisoners of War. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

CONCLUSION. 

Thanksgiving was spent in the good old 
orthodox fashion; then we began to look for- 
ward to Christmas and make preparations for 
the double wedding which was to take place 
the 26th. 

One day I had occasion to go to New York, 
and while passing down Broadway, near the 
City Hall, I observed a man wearing a sol- 
dier’s cap, peddling cakes on one of the side 
streets. The man happening to turn his face 
toward me, I noticed the figures 95 on the front 
of his cap. 

What ! ” I exclaimed, one of my old 
regiment and with a wooden leg, too. Who 
can it be? ” 

I went up to him and saw at a glance it was 
Hamburgher, the poor fellow who was 
wounded in our first battle. 

‘‘ Hello ! Humbugger, is that you ? ” 


Conclusion. i8i 

He looked at me curiously, then exclaimed, 
as he grasped my outstretched hand, '' Andee, 
ain’t it?” 

‘‘Yes,” I replied, “but I am sorry to see 
you reduced to this.” 

“ Veil, I must do somedings, I haf a vife and 
two childrens already to keep, and my pern 
sion don’t more as pay the rent. ” 

“ But have you no trade or business you 
could work at ? ” 

“ Vun-legged bakers ain’t wanted much, so 
I bakes my cakes at home, and sells ’em through 
the day. It is better as that, anyhow, ain’t 
it ? ” and he pointed to a one-armed wretch 
dressed like a sailor, who was sitting on the 
opposite corner, grinding a doleful tune out of 
a dilapidated hand-organ. 

It pained me to the heart to see this honest 
fellow struggling so bravely against adversity, 
yet I felt proud of his sturdy independence, and 
that he, and not the other was my friend. He 
at least was no beggar, he gave value for the 
pennies received, and all he asked from the 
public was patronage, just as the millionaire 
dry goods merchant across the street did every 
day of his life. I felt interested in my old 


i 82 


The Prisoners of War. 


comrade, and wished to know more of him, so I 
asked for his address, saying I would call in the 
evening when he would be at home. 

Hamburgher's abode was in an East Side 
tenement, and there I found him busy at his 
baking. He gave up his work at once, and we 
sat down together and talked about old times, 
about Sergeant Dinny, and Charley and the 
rest of our comrades, and then I got him to 
talk of himself. In his quaint style he informed 
me that he was not so badly off as some old sol- 
diers he knew, as he had nearly three hundred 
dollars in the bank, saved from his pay and 
bounty money, and that he was trying to save 
five hundred so as to start a bakery of his own. 

Will five hundred dollars start you in busi- 
ness?'’ 

‘‘ I guess it will. There’s a bakery in the 
next block for sale, and all they ask is five 
hundred dollars.” 

But why should the baker want to sell out 
if the business pays? ” 

‘‘ ^Cause he’s dead already, and his wife no 
more wants to keep it.” 

I thought for a few moments, then I said : 

I would like to assist you in this matter, 


Conclusion. 


183 


Hamburgher. See this woman to-morrow and 
make the best bargain you can. Charley and 
I will lend you what money you need, and you 
can pay it back when you are able. We will 
be in the city next Monday and will bring the 
money with us, so be sure you are at home 
when we call.’' 

‘‘ And you will lend me the money, you say ? 
That will be grand. It won’t take me long to 
pay it back.” 

Yes, we’ll loan you the money. Charley is 
rich, and I have a little myself, so rest easy on 
that score. We’ll be here Monday and fix it 
for you.” 

I had been so long with Hamburgher that it 
was nearly midnight when I got home. All 
the family except Charley had retired, and after 
the first greetings, he said he had something to 
show me. 

And I have something to tell you, but I 
guess both can keep till to-morrow. I am very 
tired.” 

'' I think you would like to see it to-night ; 
indeed, I am sure you would. 

‘‘Very well, let us see it,” I answered 
wearily. We entered the room and Charley 


184 The Prisoners of War. 


turned up the light. I started as if I had seen 
an apparition, for there standing upright 
against the wall, was a life-size portrait of Den- 
nis Mahony, looking just as he did when I first 
knew him. 

‘‘ Isn't it like him? " whispered Charley. 

‘‘ As like as life; poor Dinny ! 

Charley echoed both sigh and exclamation, 
and we sat for some moments silently gazing 
on the likeness of our dead comrade, then I 
asked: ‘‘When and where did you get this? 
You never told me of it." 

“ I told no one. I wished to surprise you. 
I gave the order to a portrait painter before we 
went South. You see, I had a photograph of 
Dinny, taken when he was home on furlough 
two years ago. At first I thought of having 
him painted as a captain, but I concluded that 
he would always be Sergeant Dinny to us, so 
I let it go as it was." 

“ I like it better as it is," I replied, “ it looks 
more natural. 

Again we relapsed into silence, broken at 
length by Charley asking if I remembered 
where we were this time last year. 

“ Digging our way out of Salisbury, I 
guess. We always worked at night." 


Conclusion. 


185 


No, Andy, we were beyond that. This time 
a year ago we were in the car with Dinny and 
Sam. This is the anniversary of our escape.^’ 

‘‘Is that so? I had quite forgotten.'’ 

Charley was in a reflective mood. “If any 
one," he continued, “ had come into our hut 
that night, and prophesied that in a few months 
Dinny would be killed, you wounded, and I be- 
come owner of a splendid property in one of 
the Rebel States, I would not have believed 
him, would you? " 

“ I would not, it sounds too much like a ro- 
mance." 

“ The ways of Providence are mysterious," 
continued the young moralist. “ To think of 
Dinny — a true hero, if ever there was one — 
after passing safely through four years of 
danger, being killed in the very last battle, and 
you maimed for life, while I, the least worthy, 
should not only come back without a scratch, 
but in possession of a fortune. It is scarcely 
credible." 

“ Yes>" I added, “ and poor Humbugger 
tramping along Broadway with his wooden leg 
peddling cakes at a penny a piece/’ and then I 
related my day's adventures and told Charley 
of my promise to assist our old comrade. 


i86 The Prisoners of War. 

‘‘ I am glad you included me/' he said. “ We 
will go shares in this venture. Poor Hum- 
bugger ! He was the best-natured fellow I ever 
knew. But I see you are tired out, Andy, so 
you had better go to bed. Mother will scold 
me for keeping you up so late. Good night." 

‘‘ Good night." 

The following Monday Charley and I went 
to New York to keep our appointment with 
Hamburgher. We found our old comrade all 
ready, dressed in, his best clothes and wearing 
a government artificial limb, instead of the 
wooden pin he had on the day I met him. A 
few hours later he was in full legal possession 
of the widow's bakery, and we returned to 
Edgetown with the consciousness of having 
done a good turn to a worthy man. 

The double wedding took place on the 26th 
of December. Charley was united to his be- 
loved Effie and Ellen became my wife. There 
is little more to tell. Charley immediately took 
his young bride to her beautiful Southern 
home, while I settled in Edgetown, where I 
have since remained. The bulk of my fortune 
I invested in real estate, and it has proved a 
good investment, as Edgetown has nearly 


Conclusion. 


187 


doubled its population in ten years, and what 
was unproductive land in 1865, is riow covered 
with blocks of houses. Once a year at least 
Charley comes North, and I sometimes visit 
him at the Pines. The last time I was there I 
was amused at hearing a young colored wo- 
man calling out, Here you, Dinny Mahony, 
come right into the house/’ and a little wooly- 
headed fellow of five or six years who was roll-' 
ing on the grass with half a dozen others, ran 
towards her. I was surprised at hearing the 
name of my old friend applied to a little darkey, 
but my surprise vanished when Sam himself 
came to the door and invited me into his cot- 
tage. He was a great admirer of Mass’r 
Dinny, and had named his eldest son after him. 
Sam is still the same faithful fellow, and Char- 
ley puts the greatest confidence in him, and has 
given him entire charge of the plantation. 
Moreover, Charley has taught him to read, 
and write and cipher, and Sam has proved an 
apt scholar, as his accounts show. Charley is 
doing a good w^ork encouraging education and 
thrift among his employees, and his people are 
amongst the happiest and most contented ne- 
groes of the South. 

THE END. 




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